Literary Giants
by M. Wheels
Summary: Set after "Tell Our Mom's." Following the disasterous Peace Talks, McQueen and Kylen Must leave The Saratoga and begin to rebuild their lives on Earth. The chapters are between 900 and 2500 words in length.
1. Default Chapter

DISCLAIMER

The characters and situations of Space: Above and Beyond depicted in this story are the legal property of Glen Morgan and James Wong, Hard Eight Productions, and 20th Century Fox Television and have been used without permission. The basic character sketches for Amy Langston and Dale Steinbeck were borrowed from Rayhne and the gang at S:AaB Virtual TV, and are used with permission. Any other new characters - blame me alone. Quotations from Annie Hamilton's delightful children's fantasy 'Tumbl'Tower' were used with her gracious permission. All Authors quoted are listed as chapter titles. No copyright infringement is intended - only admiration.

Rating: R - for language

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Literary Giants

By: M.Wheels

Chapter One - Mitchell 

Kylen remembered first watching him sleep - or maybe he was unconscious. It was a 50/50 thing. She felt old. She felt tired. She felt newly born. She felt adrift and without anchor. So, she watched him 'sleep.' She found herself counting his respirations. Sometimes he would dream - the breathing would change first, and then she would see the eyes flicking beneath the lids, and then his fingers would twitch - then he would rest again. Never long - only moments really. "_Who the Hell is he, to control his dreams," _ she thought, envying the possibility. When she looked back, she thought that she probably had picked him out on a subconscious level. Even out cold this man created a bubble around himself. She hoped that it would expand and include her.

She had been the last one to enter the transport. It was crowded with the refugees and wounded. Most seats were taken. People would have to share. _"Some things just don't change,"_ she thought to herself. She had seen the man, had almost seen the bubble surrounding him, and had gone to find a place there. Situating herself in a quiet and surprisingly roomy space to the right at the foot of his cot, she could lean against the wall. She even had room to stretch out if she wanted too. His wounds didn't bother her. She had seen worse. He was at the back of the vehicle or what she thought of as the back, almost behind the escape hatch - she remembered climbing through one like it a few hours earlier. What better place to be?

Nathan, like a Viking, come to carry her off ... to save her, and now they were separated again. _"It's just another choice,"_ she told herself. She had survived by being able to identify choices when they arose, and by making smart ones. This reaction - her actions now were just another choice. She could choose to survive, to keep looking ahead. She could eke out of the air and circumstances a measure of control or she could cave. Several of the group had caved - months of stress and pain and fear spilling over. They were quiet really, almost silent, no exaltation, no wailing no gnashing of teeth, but they had caved. You could see it in their faces. "God help us if something goes wrong now," she murmured. 

She wanted to be anywhere but in the caldron of traumas: physical - emotional - spiritual. Leaving Nathan. He was so different, but, then again, so was she. But they were both alive. He was changed, harder, grown up and somehow splendid. It was frightening and yet a comfort. In her heart of hearts, she had been afraid that she had seen too much, lost too much and made too many damn choices to ever really connect with Nathan again. But she could see it in him as well. He had been slaying some formidable dragons while she had been gone. _"Good, Damn it!** "** _ It made her somehow feel comforted and confident - that he had been moving; that he had suffered. They had a chance to be together and they had a chance to connect again. She was both thrilled and repelled by the strength and toughness she had gained.

There were three med techs, 'corpsmen' they called themselves. There were thirty-six survivors and wounded on board. She had counted. _"Some things_ _never change."_ Habits die hard. The rest had to be on another transport. She had seen Nathan talking to the injured man before they had taken him aboard. Nathan had been worried for him. The corpsmen treated this man somehow differently. One with a respect bordering on reverence, another with a brusqueness which bordered on contempt, the third with professionalism, but with a little something extra. What? 

__

"Give me time and I'll figure it out. Details are important. Details can mean survival. " This man was an officer or someone important.

An hour into the three-hour 'hop' to the Nightingale, she pumped some info out of the diffident corpsman. The man was a colonel (no surprise). An In Vitro (big surprise). Colonel McQueen, commanding officer of the 58th squadron. Nathan's group. Yes, it followed. Nathan would look to such a man. She was momentarily furious. This man McQueen had been there - had probably been instrumental to the changes she had seen in Nathan. He probably knew him better than she did now. It made her want to scream. She felt like doing damage to something. 

She was so tired of staying in control, of watching everything, of trying to plan, of missing her life. She felt herself on the edge. *_"Not yet. Can't let go yet. Still too far from home."* _ She had a thought and made herself chuckle. She repeated the thought out loud. 

"Tomorrow, I'll think about that tomorrow." 

A dry whisper immediately countered: "After all tomorrow is another day," and a sardonic snort. 

Months in captivity had schooled her responses so that she did not jump but slowly turned her head towards McQueen. "Margaret Mitchell" she whispered.

"Gone with the Wind," the response.

"The book was better," she whispered.

"No shit." 

They made eye contact. Neither smiling but both of their features softened.

"You're Kylen," he whispered and almost smiled.

"You're McQueen."

He took a deep breath. She thought for a split second it was pain, but no, it was something different.

"We need to talk," he said.

"No shit," she replied.

He snorted again, amused, gave her the half-mast smile, closed his eyes and was shortly asleep. She started to count his respirations.

End Chapter One

Literary Giants M.Wheels


	2. Aeschylus

Chapter Two - Aeschylus 

McQueen woke up slowly. He knew where he was, what was happening, but, uncharacteristically, he had no idea how long he had been out. _"God, Even my hair hurts."_ He had never had an injury this catastrophic, but he had had injuries he thought would kill him. Could have killed him. The docs had patched him up - he was stable or he wouldn't be on the transport, so he probably wasn't going to die.

He had been grounded before, and now he was off the battlefield as well. Off the Saratoga. He had no idea where it was going to send him but The Crotch would work that out. It always had. A hospital, rehab, then a desk job somewhere out in the back of beyond - counting paper clips.

"Don't go there," he whispered to himself. "It's too soon." He would think about that.... tomorrow. Simultaneously finishing that thought and remembering that he had spoken with Kylen.

He had, in some unguarded moments, wondered about her. She was the bottom line to everything West did. West's belief in her survival, in their relationship had become a major rhythm for the squadron. And he had accepted it just as easily as the Cards. It had always been there from the day he assumed command. It had grown in their subconscious from an incidental item to a central belief. It was as much of who they were as their squadron name. Three of them were gone - missing or dead - to give this belief flesh.

McQueen opened his eyes secure in the knowledge that the light would be dim. He knew the drill. He had been here before. She was sitting right next to him, asleep, leaning against the collar of the escape hatch. When he saw her, McQueen suddenly felt the same rage that Kylen had felt when she had watched him sleeping. Unlike Kylen, whose rage had flared, burned and passed without her needing to address it, McQueen had to beat his into submission with a whip and a chair. He wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake her to the point of breaking her neck. Did she have any idea at all?

This was dangerous ground. He had to get control of his emotions. Maybe if she were somehow more real to him, more than a picture then he could put all this anger in a "compartment" and close the door on it. He reached out and touched her hair. He was surprised to find it cool and soft, silky to the touch. He would have thought that those curls would have felt dry, like wheat. McQueen withdrew his hand - anything else and he would risk waking her up. The brief touch had made her more real, no longer a symbol.

He readjusted himself to look at her more easily. Given what he knew of her life in the last months, her face was surprisingly serene. Her hands were a mess. Yes, she had been 'in the thick.' Maybe he wouldn't have to break her to get her to understand. That would be a small mercy. Hell, maybe he shouldn't bother at all. 

Hope is what had fed West's survival. It's probably what had kept her alive too. Damn, there had been times in his life that hope had kept him breathing as well. Blown up and separated from Saratoga, he was having trouble mustering any hope at the moment.

"Men in exile feed on dreams of hope," he spoke softly, without realizing.

Kylen slowly opened her eyes not moving another muscle. 

_"Oh, yes," _thought McQueen. _"She's been in the thick of it all right."_

The two regarded each other silently. For a long time they just looked. There was no challenge, no battle of the wills, but neither was there a whole lot revealed. They 'regarded' each other. Finally, her expression shifted, remembering something. 

"Aeschylus"? She whispered. Then again "Aeschylus" with certainty. McQueen nodded.

They rested in companionable silence for a few minutes. McQueen calmly surveyed the area, and finally laid back down, apparently content to stare at the ceiling. Kylen eyed him through her hair. 

"How many?" she asked, voice cracking. The effect on him was dramatic. His head snapped to look at her, mouth slightly open as if to speak, expression unreadable, intent.

Her voice had shaken McQueen to the core. He was shocked in equal measure that he had been caught so completely unaware - so unprepared. "_I must be in pretty bad shape to get hit like that. To have let my guard down." _The voice, the emotion, was so like the recording on the phototag. To hear it again was deeply unsettling. 

The Wildcards, his kids, had given him the tag at Christmas. Not so much as a present, but as a token of their faith in him - their trust. He hadn't listened to the recording in way of honoring the trust given to him. Not that he didn't want to. Part of him was sorely tempted. He could have just as much curiosity as the next man. It was just somehow his end of the bargain. He would protect it but never own it. He would carry it in trust, but he would never listen. He had just now given it back to West. 

He had not broken that trust to himself. Not when West had been so crazy and the rest of the kids were thought dead. That had been a struggle. He had held it in his hand (for it was always in one of his pockets). He had turned it over and over but he hadn't listened. Not anytime his squadron had been away from him, in harm's way had he broken this faith. He had always carried their trust - unopened - in his pocket. Not then, and not after they were found. He hadn't bailed when the fleet left Demios leaving the battalion stranded. Not even after the 1900 hour communications had stopped. 

But he had started to weaken on the return to Demios. More every day and more again every night it grew heavier and added onto itself. He would take it out and stare at it. He had trouble putting it down. He fingered it in his pocket in idle moments. Inevitably, on the morning he was going back in to look for survivors his resolve had crumbled_. "What if they were all gone?"_ It had been her voice McQueen had heard tearful and breaking. He heard it again now and he felt like she had caught him stealing. Like he had walked in while she and Nathan were making love.

One of the corpsmen came over and did a quick check of McQueen's vitals. "Colonel, sir, I'm giving you some thing to take the edge off the pain. It will help you to sleep, Sir" It was in the IV before McQueen could make a move of protest. "It's on your approved list, sir, so just relax. We should be at the Nightingale in about an hour. Don't keep him up too long ma'am. You should rest too. " He left them alone again. 

"How many"? This time stronger, more assured. A different voice. Level. Insistent. She wanted to know.

He knew what she meant. _"Why bother to screw around?"_ But he had trouble bringing himself to say these things to a civilian - to her. "I don't know." It wasn't a total lie.

"How many of the 58th? " she asked again in the same tone but her eyes would brook no nonsense.

"Two missing one presumed dead." Quietly and straight into her eyes.

"Nathan's friends?"

McQueen nodded.

"I'm sorry" 

She was still, and McQueen searched her face. After a few seconds he saw her starting to get panicky. She leaned forward speaking with intensity: "But it wasn't just me, I mean, Nathan knew I was there, he told me, but it wasn't just me, there were 40 of us. I wouldn't ask them to do that. There was a transport full of survivors. I wouldn't ask Nathan to do that for me. To ask his friends to die. I wouldn't do that to people he loved. He knows that. I know he knows that. You have to know it. You. McQueen, you have to know too. And the other one, the big one. Someone has to tell him too. The really big guy. Like from another place."

"Cooper" he whispered.

"Yes, Cooper, Cooper. He He was ... It was ... It was as if we were his very reason for being, but we were somehow in his way. Not worth his time. He was like a Gabriel. Looking like an avenging angel. You could feel the fire inside of him." 

She was running out of steam and they both knew it. Kylen paused and gathered herself together. 

McQueen had been struck by the concept of Cooper Hawkes as an avenging angel, and his amusement, however ill conceived at this moment, was evident. The docs had been giving him soporifics. "_Well, I'm really cocking this up,"_ he thought to himself. This was taking on the hallmarks of a major disaster. She had been on the edge of hysteria and he couldn't control the situation. Worse, he wanted to laugh at the image of Cooper Hawkes, Avenging Angel. He took a deep breath. _"Shit, at least two broken ribs there."_ But he took in another breath, let it out slowly and centered himself. What could he possibly say? Nothing. Nothing to say to make it any better for either of them.

"They would have done it if you hadn't been there, Kylen. Your safety, your life was a gift for us all. They would have done it anyway." As soon as the words were out if his mouth he knew them to be true. 

Her eyes bored into him seeing the truth there. "How do I live with the weight?" 

McQueen was clueless. What could he give this girl? What could he say? He hadn't been able to comfort Nathan when he had needed it and he knew Nathan. He said the only thing that came to his mind. "The Third Great Wonder of the Ancient World." _"Shit, I am way too high to be doing this."_

"What ???" She looked ready to smack him.

Out of his element, in over his head, and way way too high, McQueen could do nothing but repeat himself: "The Third Great Wonder of the Ancient World."

She drew a blank but she could see that he was drugged and not crazy.

He gave her more intelligence: "Mausolos' Tomb."

He saw the light dawn in her eyes. "The Tomb of Affection and Guilt."

"Anonymous," He whispered.

End Chapter Two

Literary Giants M.Wheels


	3. Pindar

Chapter Three - Pindar 

The transport was loaded with green or yellow-tagged civilians and personnel, which put it low on the priority list. They circled for a good thirty minutes before the crew was given the "ball' by traffic control. The sound and vibration of the maneuvering thrusters woke McQueen. His instincts hadn't failed him, even if he was as high as a kite. His head still ached, and his lungs burned but less - maybe. He had heard enough in his career to know what phantom pain was. He hadn't really believed it but they hadn't lied. He know that his 'leg' hurt like a bitch, but that was the thing about most pain killers - They really didn't kill the pain - They just made you not care that you felt it.

Kylen stirred at his side. He had wanted to speak with her. McQueen wasn't even sure what he had wanted to say, but he had wanted to. Civilians made him uncomfortable, and indecision irritated him. He wanted to speak with her and then be done with her. To be able to drive on with his own concerns.

Kylen had been dozing, bored, the repeated blasts of emotion and adrenaline worn off. The change in the engines had given her another short burst, and she was almost immediately awake and alert. She did a quick visual, saw the corpsman in a state of purposeful but relaxed activity, and her heart rate began to decrease. Docking. One step closer to home. 

One of the corpsman arrived at the cot to do the last check of McQueen vitals. Do the IV's, check the straps, and ask about the level of pain: "On a scale of one to ten." With no sense of urgency, the preparations for the landing were moving forward with skill and efficiency. 

Standing, she motioned the corpsman to her side, feeling slightly foolish, but determined. "Could I please have a piece of paper and borrow a pen?" 

The corpsman looked shocked by the request and she felt that she had somehow vaguely insulted him. 

"I'm sorry to ask, but I don't have anything," she explained.

It dawned on the man that she and the other survivors, indeed, only had the clothes on their backs, and those were whatever the Toga had had in stores. 

"Sure." He smiled, taking a pen and a small notebook out of one of his many pockets. He opened the little book, tore out a few pages that he carefully folded and placed in another pocket. "Please, you can keep the pen and my notebook. Wish I could give you something more." 

Kylen was unexpectedly touched. Blinking back tears she could barely croak out a: "Thank you." The young man awkwardly patted her on the shoulder and left. 

__

"My God," she thought and exhaled deeply. (She hadn't known that she had been holding her breath.) _"What a wonderful thing to just be treated with courtesy."_ She hadn't realized how much she had missed it, how stripped away they had all become. Survival was all that had mattered. Up until that moment, that particular gesture of personal goodness, it had all been about The Group - about herself and their immediate world. They hadn't really known about the war. Not really. The AI's had said a few things, but no one really believed what they said. They would lie about the weather. The hostage transfer, the air battle, Nathan's friends dying; those things had been about The Group and its survival. Now, with the simple act of easy, almost thoughtless, kindness the young corpsman had brought the enormity of the War home to her like a door slamming in her face. 

The War was a reality, and it swallowed up everything else. It was huge. It was dreadful. Nathan would not follow her home anytime soon. The universe, the circumstances of life, had continued without her while she had been locked away. She had known months ago that she would never be the same - that she had been changed forever. Now she knew with granite certainty that nothing would ever be the same again, anywhere. She was going home to a foreign country.

She wanted to pray - to ask for the safety of this gentle corpsman, for Nathan, her family, herself but her mind had been opened too wide to form the words. "Please," was all she could whisper.

McQueen had watched the exchange out of boredom rather than interest. He had not anticipated her stunned reaction after the corpsman turned to his duties. She was transfixed holding the notebook like a breviary and staring at the hole in the air where the man had stood - like she had had a vision or visitation. McQueen had no idea what he had missed but wished that he had been faster on the uptake. 

The landing thrusters fired and the unexpected braking knocked Kylen off of her feet. She landed backward onto her rear end with a nasty flop like a toddler losing her balance. She was level with McQueen. Her face wore the expression of a Titanic survivor. The transport detached from the wing section and the elevator begin to bring it into the loading bay. 

Again they regarded one another. McQueen watched knowing he was still too drugged to comment. Years in the mines and then in The Corps had taught him one of a number of great truths: _"When in doubt keep your mouth shut."_

Kylen opened her mouth as if to speak, thought better of it and closed her lips tightly. McQueen watched - fascinated - as her expression shifted from shock, to fear then shifted again. He could read blame there briefly in her eyes, then it was gone. McQueen could see she was moving through things at dizzying pace and he was in no shape to keep up. All he could do was bear witness. At last, her eyes and features settled into what he could only think of as determination. Survival mode. An echo in his mind came like a benediction: 'These days that are still to come are the wisest witnesses.'

She finally shifted her gaze: "There was nothing you could have said to me" - an absolute statement of fact. 

End Chapter Three

Literary Giants M.Wheels


	4. Sitwell

Chapter Four - Sitwell 

The hum of the atmospheric pumps signaled that the landing bay was secure and pressurizing. The communications officers came over the COM. 

"Ladies and Gentlemen, Welcome to the medical vessel, Nightingale, 'Flo' to her friends. We will unload in a few mikes." Kylen realized that she was still holding the notebook and pen, remembered why she had wanted it, and began to write furiously. 

The familiar sounds and the unfamiliar phrases pushed a button in McQueen's foggy brain. He changed gears. The loading bays on the Nightingale weren't combat bays and would take longer to reach pressure, but there still was not much time. 

McQueen knew what was coming for the survivors. It would be different for them than it had been for him. They were civilians. It would be gentler but every bit as insistent. He had been 'debriefed' after his release as a POW and it had been no day at the beach. They weren't going home yet and they were totally clueless. They had NO idea. 

His own experience as a POW had changed him. Profoundly. But the aftermath had been equally crushing. *_"They had called it debriefing but it was interrogation. Browbeating. My own people - the Corps - had treated me with such condescension. I had to justify everything that I had done and said. My own people had demeaned and belittled my efforts. The only thing that had prevented me from knocking heads - saved me from another three months in solitary was the fact that the Natural Borns got the same treatment - almost - more or less. "*_ Though McQueen didn't realize it, the implied and inferred disgrace had inadvertently brought him into a new understanding - a new lifestyle. No one had, or would ever use those tones with him again. He would never again allow himself to be treated in such a manner.

But even worse than the atmosphere of his "debriefing" were the memories that he had been forced to face. It was a bad business all the way around. It had been weeks before he had begun to feel useful and whole again. 

__

*"Aerotech will have its hands all over this operation. The ruling head has just been cut off and they will be jockeying for power. They have to cover this up. The other mouths on this Hydra are going to be snapping and fighting with each other. And they will be willing grind the bones of the colonists to season the stew. Without a second thought. No compunction. No reserve."*

Kylen: He felt responsible for her on some level. He understood why, but he had recently been blown to hell, and didn't have the energy to deal with an FNK cheerleader. If it had been anyone else McQueen would have ignored her. He was too cut up and broken to care, and needed to husband his own resources. As deeply as he wanted her out of his life, to have all of these people, gone - he was unable to relax and let go. The Wildcards had given him their faith and they had thrown down to save these people - to save Kylen. There was one thing that he could do for them - for her. One thing that he knew he could tell her.

McQueen turned toward her. There was a lot to say and too little time. " Kylen Kylen." She nodded but kept writing. *_"Damn, but I do not like to deal with civilians!"*_ "Put it away, Kylen, they will confiscate everything you've written."

"But it's not for me. It's for y...," She was still writing, but her head snapped in his direction as what he said sunk in. The change in him was remarkable. It gave her a jolt. His eyes were still glassy behind the meds, but they looked at her fiercely. His face had hardened. One door of his mind had closed and another one had opened, and behind door number two the 'Colonel' was swimming to the surface.

He had her attention. *_"Good, but how fast does she learn? "*_ McQueen knew that his energy was limited. "They will debrief you." She nodded agreement as if to say she understood. She didn't.

Enunciating every syllable he whispered harshly: "Kylen, they will in-ter-ro-gate you."

Kylen felt bile rise to the back of her throat. He kept going. 

"Aerotech will be there - tell them as little as you can get away with." He paused, waiting for a sign from her. She nodded. He waited, giving her 'the eye' like an angry parent. 

"Yes, sir," she whispered. 

"The 'Spooks' have their own agenda," he continued. "They will press you. They will know if you lie. Think before you speak and DO NOT trust them."

Her mind raced. She asked herself: *_"Who the hell are the Spooks? What is he trying to say? "_* But she responded,"Yes Sir." 

He saw the question in her eyes, but there wasn't time to explain. "You're smart enough - you'll know them when you see them. Now, there will be Naval or Marine intelligence. Try to get alone with them, and if you can, Kylen, you tell them everything. Think hard, you DO have important information. Try to remember details, and you tell them everything. EVERYTHING. Understand?"

"I understand, Sir." But there was a lot that she didn't understand. There was something coming. Something that he didn't have time to explain. Kylen felt fear and the beginnings of panic. *_"There are wheels within wheels here and I don't even know the game let alone the rules."* _He wanted to gauge her abilities to think under fire. McQueen risked some time to ask her a question, and it wasn't an easy one. "Kylen, I need to know what you learned about surviving when you were a POW - other than water, shelter and food. Right NOW. Kylen, I need to know. What are the rules?"

She responded to his authority and urgency immediately like a child reciting a nursery rhyme. Kylen did not pause to think. She just reacted to his command.

"One. Never draw attention to yourself."

"Two. Stay in the Middle of the pack."

"Three. Remember details." Kylen stopped counting, but kept up the list.

"Keep your eyes open. Know your surroundings. Create a sense of purpose. If you can, help the weaker, but you can't help everyone. Do whatever it takes to survive."

McQueen was, frankly, astonished. There had been brief pauses, and she had stumbled some, but it was obvious to him that she had known the content of the recitation and had only sought the words. She did learn and the little package had a backbone of steel. This was more woman than he had thought. 

"Good girl. Think. Find the patterns. Look at their relationships. Don't trust these people automatically, but there will be people you CAN trust. Use your instincts. Choose carefully. These people are NOT your enemies, but not all of them are your friends."

"I will, Colonel."

He had told her what to expect. He had tested her, and did not find her wanting. Kylen felt a strange peace and the confidence given by his tacit approval. *_"The Complete Commander. Yes, people would follow him into battle. Nathan would."*_ He had slogged through a sea of meds, his lungs burned, ribs broken - had pressed himself to the limit to give her this knowledge. At that moment Kylen felt that she would follow him into battle too. She would do as he said. McQueen had given her courage.

He was exhausted. They both knew it. McQueen closed his eyes, sighed, and rested back onto his pillow. Kylen was afraid that he might have pushed too far, and nervously watched him relax and breathe more smoothly. She felt his pulse and relaxed herself when she felt it - strong and even under her touch. Door number two had closed.

Her note...She had wanted to give him the note that she had written. The note that had pissed him off. Kylen was seized with real urgency. She had a need to get this done. 

__

*"He has no pockets, no place to put it."* 

"Damn it."

__

*"He doesn't have any more to his name than I do. No... There had been a bag."* 

"Find it."

__

*"Khaki. Somewhere... Somewhere..."* 

"Damn it."

__

*"I saw it. About so big." (She began to search_). "No, not underneath."_*

"Remember the details."

__

*"Smaller than a knapsack. You know you saw it! Someone scrawled his name on it. That black officer had handed it to one of the Corpsmen. Not at the foot of the stretcher."* 

"Damn it." 

__

*"It has his serial number on it too. Hand written. A rush job. It had been thrown together in a hurry. And the Corpsman had......The corpsman had.... Done what with it? Ah yes, he had clipped it on the rail at the head of the stretcher.*"

She felt uncomfortable opening the Colonel's only possession but.... Saved again - it was a good day - She rammed the note into the zipper pocket on the flap. No harm/No foul.

Kylen moved back to his side. With nothing else to give him in return - to help him - she smoothed his blanket, tucking him in. His upper lip glistened with sweat from his recent efforts. She touched his forehead with the back of her hand. Warm and dry. No temp. She was a bit surprised and proud that he had accepted her attentions. He had probably fallen asleep.

A quiet voice reached her ear. "Did you find what you needed?" She touched him lightly on the arm. She had but not the way he had meant.

End Chapter Four

Literary Giants M.Wheels


	5. CSN&Y

Chapter Five - CSN&Y 

The door of the med transport opened with a clank, and several corpsman appeared at the opening to assist the walking wounded. Kylen elected to remain seated for a while longer. It would take a while to unload and they were in the rear. She smiled to herself. She had come to think of herself and McQueen as 'Us.' They would be separated now, and she wanted to delay that as long as she could. Her loyalties had shifted subtly in the last few hours. He was as much of her responsibility as any of the former POW's. She knew that it was true and decided that it probably wasn't too wise to question it. 

McQueen had as much as ordered her to stay in the middle of the pack, but he had also told her to trust her instinct. He had told her to choose carefully whom to trust, and she knew that she trusted him. So, she stayed where she felt strength and comfort. She would blend in later. She had gotten good at "The Old LHB" in the last eighteen months. 'Lurking, Hiding and Blending.' The survivors had made it a joke and a dangerous game - given it a name - and even a point system. They had joked about adding it too their resumes. "An advanced degree in LHB from A.I.U." She wanted to tell McQueen the joke. She wanted him to wake up.

Kylen felt strangely like a child at that moment. When she had been little, if she had a bad dream or felt nervous or scared, she would wake up her father or her eldest brother, Christian. Sometimes even if she had a good dream. There had always been such a feeling of security and completeness with them. A blanket of masculine 'sureness'. She restrained herself from reaching over and shaking McQueen awake. She desperately wanted him to wake up and be with her.

The corpsmen came to fetch the Colonel who was the only stretcher bound passenger. Kylen stood and accompanied them at McQueen's side. As the entourage neared the exit they heard what could only be described as a commotion outside the craft. Something was not going well at all. Kylen could hear crying and several of her friends were shouting. 

They hit the doorway and the debacle greeted them. The military wounded were being lead out of the bay by med techs. The survivors were being herded to the other side of the bay by soldiers holding rifles. The soldiers barked orders. The survivors in various flavors of distress tried to break out, only to be firmly placed or even shoved back into the group. She grabbed the bars on the stretcher with one hand and the arm of a corpsman with the other - halting their progress. There was no way she was going to leave the ISSCV. No way she was going to leave the ability to hide under McQueen's wing and step out into the melee. She was scared and outraged.

"It's like the selection at Auschwitz," She glared at the man and shook his arm. "What? You brought us all this way to kill us?" She knew this to be exaggerated and false, but there was too much going on. It was the last straw and she wanted to trade insult for insult.

McQueen brought himself back yet again at the sound of the growing confusion _.* "Why don't they shut up so I can sleep, damn it."* _ Kylen's 'kill us' had thrown the final switch, and he was as alert as he could make himself, injured and drugged. He looked around.

"My God, Kent State," he whispered. 

"Four dead in Ohio," spat Kylen.

"Clusterfuck," he shot back. 

McQueen tried to sit up to see better. She rushed to help him. He surveyed the scene searching for anyone who looked to be vaguely in charge of this mess. *_"This is a tactical disaster of monumental proportions."*_ He simply did not have the energy, or really the desire to take command. He caught movement on his periphery and shifted to see a Marine Major just entering the bay.

"Him - the Major," he gestured with his head. "Go. Quickly."

Kylen rested him back down. She rested her hand briefly on his chest. She wanted to say good-bye. Wanted to see him settled and safe. Now wasn't the time. She was forced to swallow her grief and fear. She gave him a pat and turned to leave when his whisper again caught her ear.

"Dignity. Don't whine" 

She fairly bolted from his side. Making her way through the melee, she mentally surrounded herself with McQueen's bubble and tried to formulate her request. She slowed to fabricate a dignity she did not feel_.* "Screw rule number one. So much for not drawing attention to yourself. Imagine yourself a queen."*_ Doing something - anything - having a purpose gave her courage. A private grabbed her by the arm. She stopped, reached down and plucked his hand from her arm. Having no idea of his rank she improvised. 

"Excuse me soldier, I'll be with you in a moment." She smiled sweetly and turned on her heal leaving a stunned private in her wake, and was almost immediately at the Major's side. 

The Major was none too pleased. That was obvious. This officer would not want to be bothered with her, but McQueen had told her this was the man. She blessed McQueen silently for giving her the man's rank. She mentally repeated her marching orders: *_"Major, Dignity, Don't whine."* _Kylen was surprised at how ordinary this officer looked. She had thought that people with the rank of Major would look somehow bigger than life. This man looked like a teacher - an average guy. It was the only way that she could think of to describe him. Average. She knew very little about the military, but she knew that they used what she felt to be exaggerated courtesy, and more importantly, she did know that a Colonel, even a wounded InVitro Colonel, outranked a Major. *_"Work with me on this, McQueen,"* s_he prayed silently. "Excuse me, Major, for interrupting (_like he_ _was doing anything, right?_). But... (_emphasizing ever so slightly)_ Colonel McQueen (_a small gesture to the wounded man)_ indicated to me, Sir, that I was to ask if you would do something, Please Sir, to ameliorate this situation. (_ameliorate - good word - a teacher's word_ ). 

As she opened her mouth to speak again the Major raised his hand to silence her. 

"AT EASE," he bellowed and a silence fairly crashed onto the crowd. The Major then began two simultaneous conversations - each with it's own tone and intensity. 

To Kylen: "As a matter of fact, I'm here to escort the Colonel to Sickbay." His tone was easy and gracious. Without taking his eyes off of Kylen he barked: "Sergeant."

Back to Kylen: "How is the Colonel doing miss?"

To the sergeant: "A word if you please, Sergeant."

__

*"He is interrogating me already, "* thought Kylen. The Sergeant miraculously appeared in front of the Major giving her time to search for an oblique answer.

To the Sergeant: "I believe your task, Sergeant was to guard; as in protect from harm and interference, the former (emphasis on _former_) POW's. Your mission was not, and is not to place them under (emphasis on _under_) guard; as in placing them under arrest, or behaving in a manner which could be construed as threatening."

"Sir, yes, Sir"

To Kylen: "One moment miss......?"

"Celina, Sir, Kylen Celina," *_"I wonder if all officers can do this: Have two opposing conversations at the same time?"*_ she thought.

To the Sergeant: "Let me suggest to you, Sergeant, that you take this opportunity to make a general announcement to the survivors as to your purpose and intent. Tell them what is going on, Sergeant."

He turned his gaze to Kylen awaiting her answer.

"Major...?"she asked, waiting for him to fill in his name.

"Howard, Miss Celina. "

"Major Howard, I don't know how much you may have heard regarding the Colonel's injuries, but he appears to be stable. Stable enough to have been placed on the transport, Sir."

Major Howard sighed internally. The girl was either a dolt or very perceptive. Undoubtedly the second. McQueen was not one to suffer fools. *_"This dog won't hunt,"*_ he thought. She had answered him truthfully but had given no information whatsoever. Debriefing these people was going to be a headache,and this little scene hadn't helped in gaining their trust.

"Sergeant, see to our guests. Dismissed"

"Miss Celina, Will you please take me to see the Colonel." The Major requested. _"The girl had known she was being interrogated. But the question about McQueen's health had been an honest one. I've seen the tape."_

Kylen lead Major Howard across the bay while the Sergeant droned on about food, showers, more meetings and blah blah blah blah. ... She was glad she wasn't part of the crowd at that moment. It felt in a way powerful not to be part of the group - to assert herself again. Her fear had gone. She found the whole thing fascinating. This Military Courtesy was arcane, but the formality and structure also made things in some way more clear. Not to mention the patina of civility. She was escorting this officer, undoubtedly from Intelligence, through the flotsam of the loading bay as if she was showing him into a Victorian parlor for high tea. Kylen understood the irony and she enjoyed it. 

When they arrived at McQueen's side, Kylen took the lead. The student was reporting to the professor after successfully completed her assignment. She bent down and spoke quietly. "Colonel McQueen may I present Major Howard from..... ?" She left it hanging, dangling like a sword in the air.

Howard realized that he had been hoist on his own petard. He had tried to finesse her and she had returned the favor in equal measure. He could offer the information or leave it open which would give them the same information as if he had shouted it from the rooftops. McQueen had little or no new information to give him. The girl, on the other hand, may be a motherlode of information. He had underestimated her. He needed her trust_. * "OK, Kylen, point to you."*_

"I'm from Intelligence, Sir. " 

McQueen had had it. *_"Let's just get this over with."_* "Major Howard, please see to Miss Celina's welfare immediately then get me the hell out of here." He was more than sick and tired of the affair, but he felt inordinately proud of her. She may have shown her hand a little too early, but she had tripped the Major. Kylen would do well.

The Major called a marine to his side. "Private, please see to Miss Celina's comfort."

Kylen filed the info away. She now knew a private, sergeant and major by insignia. *_"How many damn ranks are there in the Marine Corps?"* _Major Howard had put Kylen in her place. She knew it and didn't like it one bit, but it was probably best to blend. She turned to McQueen. She really wanted to hug the man but that was out of the question. Her mind whispered: *_"Dignity."*_

"Colonel, McQueen?" He turned his gaze toward her. "Colonel, Thank you, Sir, for your kindness and concern." He searched her face for a trace of irony and found none. McQueen found that he rather liked her - almost admired her - in a way. 

__

*"I hadn't thought that I would like her."* Strangely, McQueen didn't trust his voice. He gave her a nod and an 'almost' smile.

Kylen brushed her fingers against his in way of farewell, turned and left with the private.

End Chapter Five

Literary Giants M.Wheels


	6. Franklin

Chapter Six - Franklin

On board the Nightingale 

Kylen decided that cavorting with officers did have advantages. She continued in her best "Queen of All She Surveys" mode with the Private. He seemed very very young to her after life in the mines. To get her Private to talk she turned on the charm, and received a wealth of knowledge for her trouble. It only took a couple questions on her part as he led her through the hallways to the Mess hall. 

The second transport with the rest of the survivors was expected to land within the hour. They would all be on board The "Flo" for approximately fourteen hours after which they would be transferred to a light speed endo/exo transport for the trip to Earth. " Two, maybe two and a half days, " he said. Kylen expressed her alarm at another dark and cramped ISSCV ride and the Private assured her that this was a real ship, small in terms of Naval ships, but built for high-speed transport of material or up to a company of marines (whatever that was). 

"Beds and Heads, Ma'am, and real food." 

In the mean time, they would get "Three hots and a cot." Everyone would get a "Hollywood" shower (whatever that was, but the private made it sound like something to be devoutly desired). They would receive more complete medical exams and their debriefing would begin (she noted that he rushed through that). Everyone would be given an appointment to use the video phone to speak with family who were being brought together to spend time with them when they got 'Earth side.' 

"For 5 mikes, Ma'am."

This last was delivered just as they reached the Mess where the POW's were being divided into smaller groups. Kylen surveyed the room, and the organized chaos as the survivors lined up at various tables to give their names and vital statistics and to get their temporary "assignments." After all the pain, confusion, loss and the general mess of her life in the past eighteen months, she had only one sudden and unexpected desire at that moment. She wanted her mother. Her mother who had died years ago. She wanted to see her mother with an urgency and a pain different from anything she had felt during her imprisonment. Wanted her like she hadn't since she was five years old. Paradoxically, Kylen felt that it was the first step in letting go of the survival mode she had adopted. Maybe she would be able to have a life outside of the mines after all.

McQueen was hustled through the ship with Howard in tow. They took him into a scanner suite and left him with a full trauma team. The amputation was obvious, but it wouldn't kill him. It was frequently the unseen injuries that killed. The team was looking for the hidden dangers. Major Howard stood out of the way, but placed himself where he would never loose sight of McQueen, who hadn't opened his eyes since leaving the loading bay. 

The team catalogued a list of new injuries to add to the already hefty medical record: Concussion, broken ribs, inhalation injuries the entire length of the airways, partially treated already with surfactant therapy, percussive contusions to a number of internal organs but no evidence of active bleeding. Massive blood loss (O-) with four units transfused. He was still a train wreck but remarkably stabilized. The medical team on board the Saratoga had done well. _"Damn fine job."_

Now, the bad news. The team turned to the most obvious injury and the cause of the blood loss, the traumatic below the knee amputation of the right leg. Complicated by chemical burns.

The Flight Surgeon sighed heavily: "Well, people, I don't have much hope but let's give it a try." Spitting out a stream of invectives worthy of a Gunny, calling into question the parentage and sexual habits of Chigs in general and the Ambassador in particular, he moved off to scrub for surgery. The team began preparing Colonel McQueen for a procedure that gave them no hope. A nurse pointed the way to Howard.

********************

Kylen stood in the shower. She had learned that a Hollywood shower was five minutes of uninterrupted water flow at any temperature she wanted. She had soaped up as fast as she could and was now letting the hottest water at the highest pressure she could stand beat down on her head. The vid/phone call to her family had been disturbing on several different levels. She needed to come back into herself if she was to get through the debriefings. 

Kylen realized that Intelligence had done that on purpose - had allowed them to speak with family to unbalance them emotionally. All the easier to get information. She didn't have anything to hide from them and had resented the manipulation. She had resented the lecture on security from an intelligence officer before the call, and had resented the fact that the conversation had been monitored. Someone had been present out of the line of sight ready to hit the censor silence switch. 

All her brothers and sisters, the gang of "Indians" - the circus that was her loud, large and boisterous family were intact and well. She was deeply relieved. She had been afraid that someone would have been killed in the War. She also knew that this safety would probably not last. Sooner or later the Celina tribe would sacrifice in this war. At least Kylen would have the chance to tell everyone the things she had spent eighteen months thinking about. She knew that it was a gift not many people truly understood.

She was scheduled to have a meal with a representative from Aerotech. McQueen's advice echoed in her ears. She made a conscious decision to follow his lead. He knew a lot more than she did._ "Tell them as little as you can."_

***********************

McQueen lay in the recovery room. Asleep again. Howard still at his side. The surgeon had been correct in his assessment. There was no surgical reattachment of his leg. Well, it had been worth a try. Howard was chilled by the equanimity with which McQueen received the news. A nod, nothing more. 

__

"He that lives upon hope will die fasting," Major Howard thought. He was reminded of nothing so much as Robert E. Lee: the Marble Man. His grace, courage under fire, the lowest number of demerits in the history of West Point, disciplined in all areas of his life, an abundance of honor. Perfection. Well, from the record he could see that McQueen's career patterned Sherman as much as Lee but he wondered idly if McQueen consciously emulated Lee, The Gray Fox - or if it was just the inner nature of the Colonel. 

It was what Howard hoped. Hell, he needed heroes too and he felt McQueen was the real deal. Colonel McQueen was the type of man that people wrote books about. Howard had read McQueen's jacket and knew him to be a man with an almost pathological desire for privacy. There would never be an authorized biography only official press releases from The Corps that McQueen could not control. God help the person who tried to research the man. Howard whispered the old Franklin doggerel to himself:

"If you would not be forgotten, as soon as you are dead and rotten, 

Either write things worth the reading, or do things worth the writing." 

It was almost a shame, this need for privacy. People should know about men like the Colonel.

********************

Kylen knew with certainty that she had been "handled." These people were smooth. They were astute enough to not separate the survivors but also aware enough to keep them in smaller groups. One staff member for every four survivors. They were never alone. There was always a "Keeper" close by. Everything they talked about was overheard by someone. Their families were being brought to meet them. That meant that they were going to be sequestered somewhere for who knew how long. By making frequent trips to 'the head,' she managed to exchange snips of information with a few of the other women. Some got the picture and some didn't. The whole thing was starting to really piss her off.

Kylen reviewed the last few hours. She had gotten through the Aerotech ordeal pretty well. By going on the attack, she hadn't allowed them too many questions. She had barraged the man with questions about her backpay, benefits and release from her contract. That thought frightened her more than a little: Could they really still hold her to the contract? Certainly public opinion would help. One problem at a time.

She had met "the Spooks." Kylen had almost laughed when they were introduced. McQueen had been wrong. You didn't have to be smart to figure out why these guys were called "Spooks." Self-important, dressed in black they made no attempt at blending in but seemed to enjoy throwing their weight around. Kylen had detested them immediately. They acted as if they knew more than anyone else did, and weren't telling. 

The Spooks were the 'Alien Interpretation Unit,' and they had wanted to know about the aliens, Chigs, they called them. How they had acted. How they had communicated. What Kylen knew about them. Well, after the first couple of months she had rarely even seen one of them so she had very little to tell. McQueen had said they would press her and they hadn't yet so she figured she would be seeing them again. 

No one had left her alone long enough to organize her thoughts. The trip home was shaping up to be a real pain in the ass.

After her shower there was another meal. The Keepers started to round up their charges and head out to the wards to grab some "rack time." Kylen was ready to sleep in a real bed even if it was only a cot in a medical ward. As they made their way through the passageways she came to the startling realization that her newest "captors" had told her no more about the war than the AI's had. Less in fact. They were keeping them in the dark. Part of her knew why they would do such a thing and another part of her jumped over the slow burn and immediately hit full-blown white-hot burning mad. 

"Like Hell," she growled, turned on her heel and headed off to find Major Howard. "Smarmy son-of-a-bitch!" She made it as far as the Mess and stopped. Her "Keeper" would be after her soon. _"This will serve no purpose. I'm not going to get any information and I'm only going to drawn attention. If I want Aerotech and The Spooks to forget I exist, this isn't how to do it. Wait for Howard, Kylen. Watch for the patterns and wait for the moment."_ She went back to the ward and slept fitfully.

End Chapter Six

Literary Giants M.Wheels


	7. Njals Saga

Chapter Seven - Njals Saga *

ON BOARD THE TRANSPORT "ASJIKI"

*******************************

"Kolskegg moved quickly and stepped towards him and struck him on the side with his short sword and cut off his leg, and then he said. "Did that hit your leg or not?"

"This is what I get," said Kol, "for not shielding myself" - and he stood for a while on his other leg and looked at the stump.

Kolskegg said, "You don't need to look: it's just as you think - the leg is gone."

Then Kol fell down dead."

********************

He had had the dream again. He wasn't sure how many times it had been repeating, but he knew for sure that this was the third time he had been jolted out of his sleep - sweating and sick to his stomach. Amy had given him the Njals Saga for Christmas the first year of their marriage. The imagery was obvious. The dream always ended the same way. In the dream, McQueen looked at the stump of his leg, and then fell down to die. What changed was Kolskegg's face and voice. Certainly, the Chig ambassador had played the role at least once, but McQueen remembered that the sword had also been in the hands of Wang. He didn't remember Vansen or Phousse coming after him, but he was fearful that they would probably show up soon enough. _"That's what I get for not shielding myself. Of letting down my guard and feeling some sort of personal connection with these people." _

McQueen had been careful. Careful to keep his distance. Never letting himself get too close. The aloofness between McQueen and the 127th was, he would even admit, partly of his own making. That aloofness was part of the reason that, as difficult as it had been, he had been able to move forward after the 127th had been wiped out. He had guarded himself against it and it had still happened. He had formed emotional bonds. _"God, what if they haunt my dreams like Port Risken. That's not how I want to remember them. Oh God." _ This last time the Viking, Kolskegg, had changed from a Chig into his ex-wife, Amy. It was horrifying to him. 

McQueen had never been able to decide which was worse - heaving your guts out, or having the dry heaves.

********************

The debriefings were to continue aboard the transport vessel Asjiki. In fact, it was here where Intelligence expected the biggest breakthroughs. Two days of total concentration on the Hostages. 

The Asjiki was a multipurpose modular vessel large enough to carry a full company with all their gear. She was configured for this trip as a hospital transport. The medical ward modules provided spaces that kept the former hostages in small groups for their comfort and mutual security, but allowed continual surveillance by Intelligence personnel. Her Isolation Room modules, with their windows to anterooms and corridors, provided excellent interrogation spaces, but a physical space that, again, the survivors would not find too intimidating. The windows offering a feeling of openness and the absence of confinement. Hot food cooked in a real galley. Hot showers. All in all, Howard had been pleased with the set up - thrown together as it was.

Aerotech and The Spooks had gotten first shot at the group on the Nightingale, and now had to cool their heels while what Howard thought of as "The Professionals" took over. Patience and timing was how the game should be played particularly where civilians were concerned. The 'competition' had been too eager, and hadn't even bothered to question why Marine and Naval Intelligence had let them move ahead. They had jumped the gun. _"No, now is the time,"_ thought Howard. _"This is where we separate the wheat from the chaff, and hopefully where I find a few _real_ gems."_

Howard watched Kylen through the anteroom window. This one he hoped would be a real find - a gem. He had been getting and continued to get reports from 'The Keepers'. A few of the survivors looked very promising. He had already met the prospect in front of him and he had great hopes. There was only the merest possibility that any of them would show any signs of Stockholm Syndrome. Their captors had been too different to really identify with. No, it was a matter of gaining trust, and being able to grasp unto the little things. Interrogating these people would be a very different matter than dealing with military personnel. The survivors didn't know that they knew things. 

Howard decided that he wanted to handle this one himself. He liked to keep his skills sharp, but truth be told, Kylen had intrigued him. He had actually been looking forward to this. This one was just waiting for the right person.

Kylen was sitting in the chair relaxed, composed, self-contained - hair still damp from her morning shower. She had repositioned her chair to face the door, and allowing herself to see the clock on the wall. _"Confident enough to rearrange the furniture, but still watching her six. Interesting young woman,"_ thought Howard. He pushed the door to the isolation (now interview) room open with his elbow, careful not to spill his offering of two cups of hot coffee. He noticed that she didn't jump at the sound only shifted her gaze. Aware and awake. She did not get up to help him. They weren't on the same team yet.

Howard pushed through the door into the room. "Good morning Ms. Celina. I've taken the liberty of bringing some coffee. How do you take it?" He put the heavy mugs on the table and drew sugar, creamer, and stir sticks out of his pocket. Kylen didn't answer his question and she didn't say thank you, but started fixing her coffee with creamer and two sugars. Without thinking, Kylen was still acting in survivor mode. She had used to prefer her coffee and tea black, but she now tried to add calories and energy whenever she could. She looked for ways to get them as a matter of course. Kylen made a face of dissatisfaction when she took her first sip. 

"Not to you liking?" Howard asked. 

Kylen considered her situation. This man was nominally in charge. It was better to be on his good side - at least for now. She didn't know how far to trust him, but she would answer him truthfully whenever she could. 

"I used to drink it black, but.... Well,... We wanted calories... We never knew.... We... We wanted calories...even bad calories." Her attempted explanation sputtered out. 

Howard decided not to jump on the food issue. In reality, they didn't appear to be starving. It had been an issue, clearly, but he would let her bring it up at her own level of importance not his.

Kylen spoke softly. "Major Howard, before we get started, may I ask you a few questions?" 

"Certainly, Ms Celina." This surprised Howard - only in that most people waited until the end of the first interview or the second to ask their questions. _"She may be single minded. She's gutsy and probably can be very willful and stubborn if I don't give her the respect she wants." _

"Major Howard, why haven't you told us anything about this war? When do you intend to tell us?" She was very careful to keep her tones even and non-confrontational - her body language neutral. Howard could, nonetheless, sense her hostility.

"Miss Celina let me ask you: Why do you think we would not tell you these things?"

Kylen sighed heavily. She really did not want to play the 'Think-Things-Out-For-Yourself' game. Howard read her exasperation in the sigh, and felt the need to head this off.

"I sounded like your Mother, didn't I?" he asked with a weak chuckle. "I'm really not attempting to cloud the issue, but if I can gain some understanding of how you think...how you process information.... Well, it just makes my job easier." He saw that she accepted the logic. 

Kylen conceded the point. "I think that you probably aren't telling us anything so that we don't become distracted. So that what we have to tell you doesn't get buried in other concerns and fears. How am I doing?"

Howard was greatly pleased. "You are right on the money. There will be a series of current history seminars for you after we get back to Earth."

"Which brings me to my second question, Major. A private told me that our families are being brought to us...Not, I noted, that we would be going home to see them. What is that about?"

It was a bitter truth, but Howard thought it would be the best medicine. "Ms Celina, the unhappy truth about people in your situation - hostages, survivors of terrorist activities and disasters, even rescue personnel - is that there is a high level of residual emotional fallout. Personality changes, emotional distress, depression. Post traumatic stress disorder is very common, and there is a high risk of suicide after the fact." He saw no overt reaction from her after this remark except for a remarkable stillness in her face and body. _"Good, she is able to mask her reactions to a large extent she would only need a little schooling."_ "We want to avoid that in this case. So we are going to briefly - and I stress briefly, probably only a few days - We are going to briefly sequester your group and select family members. During this time your debriefings will continue, you will be brought up to date and everyone will be assigned a case worker and counselor "

However unpleasant this information was it, unfortunately, made sense to Kylen. She fell back on an attempt at irony to easy the tension. 

"I suppose it's too much to hope for sunshine and a beach?" she countered.

"Yes, I'm afraid it is." Howard chuckled again. "We have commandeered The Clinic at The Greenbrier. We can control it, and it is close enough to Washington and New York for the Brass and UN big wigs who will probably want to visit."

"Not to mention bunkers and bomb shelters," she added.

"As I said, we can control it. The Greenbrier was actually used for a similar purpose as far back as World War Two. There is the medical clinic, not to mention a spa, the Mineral Baths, recreational activities and masseuses. And they have a remarkable kitchen for your caloric concerns." He gently teased. He watched her process this information. 

"I'm not sure that was such a hot idea," she said.

Howard was flabbergasted. The Greenbrier was a five star resort. He couldn't afford a weekend there.

"The Mineral baths? - White Sulphur Springs?" she continued. "Have you ever smelled those Bugs...up close?" she challenged. Howard hadn't, and he was a little chastened to realize that, no matter what she didn't know about the war, Kylen had seen the enemy face to face. In their brilliant way, the government had neglected to account for the fact that the Chigs gave off a distinct sulfurous odor - in fact just like the mineral baths. It was an embarrassment. He said the only thing he could think of.

"The baths are at the other end of the Resort. You don't have to go there." Howard watched as Kylen considered this.

"Major Howard, how is Colonel McQueen?" The shift was sudden. A caution light went off in Howard's brain. _"Could she be too mercurial? Or does she just have that gift, usually particular to women, of keeping several things in complete focus at the same time?"_ His wife could do it. Hell, he had even seen his four-year-old daughter do it. He accepted it as a fact but it always vaguely astonished him. He noted too that she was sure that he would know the answer to her question about Colonel McQueen. She was quick on the uptake. Howard decided to answer completely. Kylen would eventually find out if he lied. She wasn't technically a prisoner. She was only under his control for a short time. Trust was at issue.

"He is stable as you so 'completely' told me yesterday," he smiled, and they both acknowledged the dance they had gone through the day before. "He is still serious but greatly improved. He is on board by the way. The limb reattachment was a no go. He's on his way home for a prosthetic. Ms Celina. Now, if I may ask, what is your connection to Colonel McQueen?"

Kylen also decided to tell the truth. _"I may have to lie to him later but he can find this stuff out ...if he doesn't know the answer already."_

"We were saved by the 58th. My fiancé is in the 58th. Colonel McQueen commands the 58th." She was forced to smile at her own repetitions. "We met yesterday on the transport. I feel responsible to him ... for him somehow. I just want to make sure he is well cared for." She paused momentarily to change gears. "Major Howard, why is he under arrest? Or rather under guard or should I say guarded?"

It was Major Howard's turn to smile at the reference to their first meeting. He was thoroughly enjoying the exchange. _"Correction. She is very very quick. Tell her the truth or you will lose her." _ " Ms. Celina, The Colonel has an appreciation of certain facts that aren't known at large, and there are people who would rather that information not become common knowledge. While we anticipate any threat to be short-lived, we, nonetheless, believe it too be quite real at the moment. As far as The Colonel's actions are concerned, his injuries ... well, I imagine that he will get a medal or at the least a commendation. In any case, his life has been changed." 

"Tell me, Major, does he get an all expense paid week at The Greenbrier? A counselor? A case manager?" Kylen challenged with more than a little bitterness on behalf of McQueen. Major Howard didn't answer her, and she was glad that he had had the good graces not to prevaricate. They both knew the answer to her question. The V.A. hadn't really changed since the Vietnam War. There was certainly no week of decompression and counseling at a resort in Colonel McQueen's future.

"When we finish I'll take you to see him," Howard told her gently. "And thereafter, you may see him whenever you like, unless of course you and I are in ... consultation." He chuckled again and received a small smile for his efforts. 

"Agreed. Now, Major, what do you want to know?"

********************************************************************

T O P S E C R E T 

ASJIKI

TO USMC HDQRTS DEPARTMENT OF INTELLIGENCE

PERSONAL FROM MAJOR HOWARD USMC TO GENERAL RADFORD USMC.

Dear General:

As requested, I'm forwarding my impressions to you. The completed reports for further interpretation should be available within an hour of landing at Andrews. Please convey my compliments to General Weirick. I'll let him know when Lt. Col. McQueen is on his way to Steinbeck's clinic. Due to his injuries the Docs are going to have to put the Colonel out for the reentry. I'll personally see him loaded onto the transport. 

General, let me thank you and General Weirick for pulling whatever strings you had to get him there. Based on my own experience, I can tell you that Steinbeck is just the man for the job. 

The team is getting the POWs prepped for the trip to the Greenbrier. Time will tell how many will really be an asset to us. They are all in surprisingly good shape physically but most of them are psychologically not up to our purpose.... At least not at this time, I'm afraid.

There are a few notable exceptions. One in particular: Kylen Celina 

I have gleaned the following from Celina, along with one or two others. It is notable that they have very little insight into the Chigs. But they have interesting info re: the AIs and Kazbek.

1. The POWs were indeed held on Kazbek and were used to mine Sewell Fuel, which they called The Pink. None of them appear to have any knowledge whatsoever of the Clone or clones that the 5-8 reported. Most have mentioned seeing the 5-8 brought in as prisoners. They heard the torture, of course, and had assumed that the Marines had been executed. We need to keep strict compartmentalization on that S.A.R. Granted we didn't know that the POWs were there until after we had secured the 5-8, but you can imagine the fallout of leaving 40 civilians behind with a carrier in the area.

2. While they tried earnestly to evade capture there was no concerted effort by the POW's to engineer an escape once on Kazbek. To Quote: We are underground on a planet - who knows where. Where were we going to go?" I think that many of them may have trouble with this in the future.

3. These people are not "average". Aerotech was not about to spend the cash to send Joe Average into space. They are very well educated and extremely bright. Celina is not the only one to start putting things together by any means; we've just had the most luck with her. These people developed ingenious methods of coping. Very inventive. The seminars at Greenbrier will come none too soon. Continuing to keep them in the dark is going to be counterproductive. We don't want to shoot ourselves in the foot here.

4. After the initial 3 months, the POWs had very little contact with the Chigs - who they called The Bugs or The Locusts (evidently the chaplain survived and regularly quoted from Revelations). This coincides with the time they were taken away from Tellus. The attitude of the Chigs to the survivors was (after the initial period) characterized by the group as a whole as largely indifferent. Which paints a different picture comparing it to how our servicemen and women are treated. This certainly implies a more complex agenda that we might have thought.

Best Regards, 

Barton Howard

End Chapter Seven

Literary Giants M.Wheels


	8. Ibsen

Chapter Eight - Ibsen 

The session with Howard actually raised Kylen's spirits. He coaxed her memories a bit too much at times - had danced around the edge of her self-control. She knew that he would get back to those tender areas but he was allowing her to unburden herself at a mutually agreed upon pace. Urgent, even rapid but controllable. They really only discussed three topics: the fact that the Chigs really didn't have much to do with the group after the first month when the AI's took over. The fact that shortly after the AIs took over that they were treated as noncombatants - slave labor. The fact that the AI's had so few spare parts and were starting to break down. And he seemed interested in "The Pink" which is what they had come to call the stone that they had mined. He definitely wanted more about that. 

Howard gave her permission to use her notebook if she thought of anything between their meetings. _"Its the only thing that I own. Its all that is mine."_ He did, however, give her strict instructions to write only a key word to act as a memory jogger - never to write a phrase or sentence. They talked through lunch, and the Major gave her his apple for later. "Good calories," he smiled as he passed it over. She wasn't sure if it was a gesture of kindness or of manipulation, but Kylen took the apple from his hand, feeling very much like Sleeping Beauty. 

"Hi-ho Hi-ho," she murmured.

"Pardon me?" Howard responded.

"Mirror, mirror," she had offered.

If he understood the reference (which he hadn't) Howard gave no indication, but he finally took her to see the Colonel, whose room was actually very close. They had McQueen in an isolation room not too far down the corridor around the corner.

They heard it before they got to the anteroom. All hell was breaking out. Howard slammed her against the bulkhead, drew a pistol from his ankle and broke though the door. Kylen could hear crashes, yelling and a torrent of vituperation. She started backing down the corridor away from the commotion._ "Oh God, they've come to kill him. How do I get away? Who do I get? Who is there to trust?"_ The room was suddenly quiet, and she halted in her tracks - transfixed. Kylen could hear Howard's now familiar chuckle. She crept back towards the anteroom. Howard was in conference with a doctor as he reholstered his weapon. Kylen slipped into the room.

"Lunch?.. Lunch set him off?" Howard sputtered. "Well, Doctor, then he isn't that sick either physically or mentally. Doctor, this is a man of remarkable self control Just what is going on? Are you sure it wasn't a drug reaction?"

The Doctor replied with an air of long-suffering. "No, Sir. I don't believe so. No new drugs - all nonaddicting. He's had them all before. They brought him lunch and the nurse asked if he wanted to see the counselor. Then Bang! Look Major, I'm actually a bit relieved to see this outburst. He was terribly passive for someone with this level of loss. I don't want to keep this man sedated any more than required for pain control. It's causing disorientation and increasing his isolation. I'm hoping this is a grief response and not the first signs of PTSD. Look, I'm going to have to put him under, and I mean OUT, for atmospheric reentry, but he is going to have to deal with this sooner or later. Given the time frame and limited options he needs a clear head. I really want to cut down on his meds as much as we can, but we can't put up with more of these outbursts and, frankly, neither can he. We put him in danger, and he won't deal with any of us. Major, get him under control."

Kylen snuck a look into the space where McQueen was being kept. The picture inside the isolation room was not a pretty one. A nurse, a corpsman and a guard, bleeding from the forehead, were being held at bay by the man on the bed by the shear force of his personality and will. He had nothing else left at this point - everything within arms reach had been launched at someone's head. The bedside table and nightstand had gone flying. The IV's had been ripped out, and there were blood splatters everywhere. McQueen was drenched in sweat, breathing ragged, propped up on one arm, his gown ripped and falling off. His good leg was swung over the edge of the bed, foot on the floor, ready to make a move. He was, in Kylen's mind, the definition of a cornered animal. 

"Door number three," she whispered. Her fear gave away to sadness, and she suddenly felt dreadfully depressed and trapped herself. 

"What?" demanded Howard, who both saw and felt the change in her mode and demeanor.

"Private matter," she snapped. Howard may have been born at night but not last night. He knew better than to go there. 

Kylen had spent many of her summers on her uncle's farm in Kentucky. She had learned to handle the yearlings and the stallions. Someone had obviously tried drugs and the wrong technique to train this horse, this man, this lion in a cage. _"He is my responsibility. Nathan will never forgive me if I leave this alone. I'll never be able to look into the mirror again if I walk away from this."_ Kylen had seen similar outbursts in several of her fellow prisoners. Usually right before they did something incredibly dangerous, often suicidal. Well, for the moment McQueen was her lion. _"Make the choice,"_ she silently ordered herself.

"Mirror. Mirror," she whispered. Kylen opened the door and stepped through into the den. Howard was two seconds too late to stop her. The bleeding guard grabbed her arm. 

"Get the fuck out of here," she hissed into his face. It was like she had fired a starting pistol - the room cleared in a shot. She shut the door behind them and gave Howard a wink through the window. A show of confidence she didn't feel.... But she had learned to lie as well as swear in the last year. _"No time like the present." _If she showed anyone how she really felt they would come back into the room and the whole mess would start up again. She closed the blinds to the anteroom window, picked up a chair, put it in front of the door, sat down, and brought up a knee to rest her chin. _"This behavior is counterproductive but wish I had his guts. I'd like to throw a few things. I'd like someone to know just how pissed off and frustrated I am. Lonely... Lost."_

__

"He can either back off, regain control or come after me." Kylen waited for McQueen to make up his mind.

The Colonel said nothing. His gaze was no longer murderous. It was disconnected, which frightened her more. She waited - composing herself. _"Major Howard said that he was a man of remarkable self control. What I've seen...what I'm seeing now... are things that McQueen would rather have died than have me witness. To have anyone witness. Well, there is no help for that, I HAVE seen and I AM here." _ Kylen hoped that he would forgive her that fact. Too late now. She had seen inside 'Door Number Three,' and it was a cold and despairing place. She could stand guard until he regained himself. 

Kylen hoped Howard had things under control on the other side of the door. She really didn't know what she would do if anyone tried to come in other than the obvious. She was small, but she could call down fire from heaven when the occasion demanded. Five brothers had taught her a lot.

McQueen gauged her from his perch on the edge of the bed. "_One cutesy word of comfort, and, Kylen or no Kylen - she is GONE. Outta here. But she did get rid of the tormentors and she is silent and calm."_ She looked to him to be almost from another planet, another life form entirely. Her face - even and unlined. _"I just don't need any more shit. Even from her. Especially from her. Damn her, so calm. They keep me under guard. They tell me nothing and treat me as if I only had two brain cells left. They offer me false hope and cliches. Then they send this ... this child into witness this latest humiliation. How dare any of them."_

"_Damn them all. Damn her. Damn her and Nathan. Damn those people with a belief in the goodness, the rightness of life. People with confidence that things will turn out for the best. Well, it hasn't turned out 'The Best' for me."_ All he had valued - had loved - had been trampled or lost. Crumpled. Thrown away. And now he physically could not fight back. _"And now - now the little princess, the goddamn Cheerleader has seen me like this."_ McQueen had for years feared loss of control more than death, and he had lost it. Lost it well and true. He hadn't blown it like that since the divorce. McQueen didn't know if he had the reserves left to pull himself out of this. _"Not again. Not again." _ He then began to whisper it slowly. A mantra to calm himself. 

"Not again. Not again. Not again. Not again." He met Kylen's gaze and watched her. Sitting with her chin resting on her knee, she looked oddly serene and somehow complete. Then his gaze traveled to the hands hugging her knee. It would take months for the damage to fade. A year in the mines, underground, imprisoned. No matter how she may look she wasn't a child anymore. Not anymore. McQueen met her eyes and he realized that she understood.

"It feels like death," he whispered to her.

Kylen slowly nodded yes. She spoke softly - a quiet statement of fact. "But it's not."

The adrenaline was almost burned off. McQueen was suddenly tired. His arm began to tremble. He needed to lie down. Suddenly he was seized with an overwhelming wave of nausea. He gagged. Kylen bolted out of her chair scooping up a basin from the floor on her way across the room. McQueen heaved just as she reached him. The little that had been in his stomach came up followed by continued dry heaves. Spasms racked him from his head to his toes and squeezed tears from his eyes. Kylen rubbed his back murmuring the words one uses to ease a child through sickness. She didn't feel in the least uncomfortable saying them, and somewhere it registered to McQueen that he wasn't insulted hearing them. He was comforted by the nonsense phrases - comforted by her hand on his back. When he felt that he was finished he nodded and lay back on the bed. Kylen helped him move his leg back onto the bed and drew a sheet over him.

Kylen found washcloths and towels in the wreckage, and put a cold cloth on his neck and handed him one for his face. A new gown from the cabinet. Some mouthwash and a drink of cool water. She drew her chair over to the side of the bed.

"Why are you here?" he asked, half accusingly.

She shrugged. Kylen actually wasn't sure herself, except that she had felt that it was her job to be there. It made her feel more alive to be there. Like she was moving forward somehow. 

"I saw the look on Nathan's face when you left. He couldn't be here so I thought that I'd better be." She paused for a few seconds and then continued. 

"It takes one to know one, Colonel." Gently but surely she pressed on. "Look, McQueen, I don't even pretend to know your life. To know you. I don't even know how you got this injury. I'm not asking now. I don't know how far down you have been, but I refuse to look at your life.... Or my life as a Swedish play."

"You refuse?" he said with more than a little contempt. _"Who does this little thing think that she is? Refuse. What presumption - What gall."_

"Yes, I refuse. This morning I was told that I can expect depression, personality changes, probably post traumatic whatever, and that my chances of committing suicide have increased exponentially. Like you, - if this outburst was any measure - I do not intend to just fold up my tent. "

__

"Well, I guess that she can presume. She has the right to refuse almost anything," he had to admit to himself.

"Swedish play?" He asked picking up on the seemingly trivial conversation. It wasn't trivial by any means - it was a code of sorts.

Kylen then explained. "It's not a Swedish classic unless there is at least one suicide. Strindberg and that insipid little Miss Julie. Or worse, Ibsen. Hell, there are almost a many dead bodies littering the stage as in 'Hamlet.' Face it, McQueen, you are no Oswald and I'm not Hedda."

She saw a spark in his eye. She pressed the advantage, "Or Lovborg or a little Hedwig." The images were incredulous, and she knew that he knew it.

"He's a damn depressing author, Kylen " 

"No Shit, McQueen. But what is that one good line?"

"You mean to say that there is a 'good' line in Ibsen?" He asked sardonically and Kylen knew that, at least for today, they had him back.

"Yes, Nora. Doll's House. About duty." She trailed off.

"I have other duties just as sacred...Duties to myself." He gave her the line. They both rested in silence.

*******************************************************************

T O P S E C R E T 

ASJIKI

TO: USMC HDQRTS DEPARTMENT OF INTELLIGENCE

PERSONAL FROM: MAJOR HOWARD USMC TO GENERAL RADFORD USMC.

Dear General,

A few more insights for your consideration:

1. The AIs were already on Tellus at the time of the attack. And basically took over when the survivors were all removed from Tellus - guarding the POWs with only a few Chigs. The AIs evidently learned and passed on to the Chigs that the colonists had had no idea that they were entering into Chig space. All forms of interrogation essentially stopped about 2 months after the AI's took over. - That is about one month before they were evacuated from Tellus to Kazbek. - The AIs apparently masterminded using the POW's as forced labor in the mines. The Chigs have serious trouble with the atmosphere and the AIs have difficulty using Chig technology, which is evidently, run using the same type of bioconducting gel we found in the Bomber. 

2. The AIs found it in their best interest to keep the POW's in a relatively good state of physical health. They appear to have been reasonably well fed. Perhaps as a way of maintaining the edge there was a fair amount of continued psychological abuse of a nature not seen before. Food and medical supplies were given or taken away at random. Not related to any rewards or infractions. There were at least three different AI 'units' that engaged in 'entertainment.' They would recite TV shows and Broadway musicals while the POWs were at forced labor. Repeating things incessantly and finally performing their "act" using the voices of of the POWs themselves. This became profoundly unnerving to several of the group. How many times can you listen to OKLAHOMA to begin with and then to hear it in your own voice? What is of supreme interest is that Celina and several others mentioned the fact that at least one unit started reciting sitcoms (complete with canned laughter) from the beginning of the Series. The Ben Markham Show. (Talk about torture) What was significant is that he was reciting episodes that none of the colonists had ever seen. Our team has confirmed that these were NEW episodes. Which mean that the modems are hooking in to units on Earth. We've got more rats in the woodpile than we thought.

3. We must seriously review what the loss of the POW's will have on the mining operations on Kazbek. The AIs evidently can't do the mining, and will have a decrease in their access to Sewell Fuel. The Chigs seem to have had a very difficult time getting it for themselves.

With respect, 

Barton Howard

End Chapter Eight

Literary Giants M.Wheels


	9. Hemingway

Chapter Nine - Hemingway

Kylen sat with her feet resting on an open drawer of the nightstand. She again found herself counting McQueen's respirations_. "We've got to stop meeting like this,"_ she thought. It was a poor joke. 

She had learned over the past year to lie, to steal, to swear like a longshoreman. She could lurk, hide and blend. Kylen could help devise and use secret codes and hand signals for The Group. She could run mining equipment. She could sleep on stone, cold and wet. She could survive. She could feel brief moments of laughter but she wasn't sure that she could ever be joyful again. Kylen was now more than a little sardonic. She had learned that "heartache" was not just a term but an actually feeling of cold and heaviness in her chest. It was indeed physically felt and it was one step away from despair. She had lived with this pain in her body and her spirit for over a year. She had lost all innocence. Would she ever again be able to describe herself as lighthearted? The pain; the weight never really went away. It waxed and waned but it was always with her. Kylen closed her eyes and quoted to herself: _"The first and the final thing you have to do in this world is to last in it, and not be smashed by it."_

Witnessing McQueen's frustration and desperation had brought all the pain back to the forefront. It almost hurt to think. Part of her wanted to run screaming from the room but Kylen realized that it was too late. The damage had already been done. If she went back to her bunk she might feel less pain... But only slightly and she would feel lonely inside that mass of displaced people. It might feel worse on one hand to stay where she was - but here, at least, she didn't feel alone and there was now peace and quiet. She could breathe here. She could think. Kylen realized that this time she had built the bubble around McQueen... Or at least had helped. It made her feel accomplished and mature. She opened her eyes and found that McQueen was watching her.

"You are going to need a new IV, " she said reasonably.

"Later," he replied wearily.

"I could probably do it." She saw the question in his face. "All of the colonists had to have a secondary skill. Mine was medical. I'm a paramedic and med tech. The AI's were funny about that. Sometimes they would give us medical supplies and let me work. Then they would take the stuff away. It had nothing to do with infractions or rewards. Just random messing with our minds, I guess"

"Tell Major Howard," McQueen prompted softly.

"I will. I've talked to him already this morning. I'll see him again tomorrow. Colonel, I think that he may be the one.... The one to tell." 

"Me too," he agreed simply.

Kylen pulled out her notebook and wrote "IV" on the first page to jog her memory. She crossed to the door, leaned out and asked for IV supplies. McQueen couldn't see around the door but he did see a uniformed arm give her a basket full of the equipment. She returned and proceeded to restart his IV. McQueen felt a little unsure but he trusted Kylen and her interest in him more than he trusted the nurses who might be better at the task. 

Truth be told, Kylen was sweating bullets. It had been months since she had started an IV and she simultaneously cursed her promise to get it started and prayed for the skill to get the job done. _"This will catch up with me if I don't change my ways."_

Kylen bent her head to the task. McQueen watched her work for a minute or two then spoke softly. "You haven't locked my heels yet."

Without looking up she answered. " Well, McQueen, I have no idea what that means but I can guess. Hold still, here comes the pinch." She did not look up from her work. " What you did.... I have to admit; it's something that I've wanted to do more than once recently.... Though I doubt that I could be so.... Spectacular," she smirked. "Besides, 'it makes one feel rather good deciding not to be a bitch.' "

McQueen held his breath until he saw the flash. She was pretty good after all. She started to tape in the IV.

"That was Hemingway wasn't it? " he asked.

"I thought you might like him" Kylen quipped. "He is a 'masculine' author."

"Masculine?" He asked.

"Don't you think so?" she encouraged. "Very male. Lots of testosterone. An author for men."

McQueen had no concept of how to frame a response. _" She is a clever girl. The IV is in and taped. She kept me occupied while she did it."_

Kylen adjusted the drip and finally looked up at McQueen. She met him eye to eye. "Colonel, 'The world breaks everyone and many are stronger at the broken places.'" 

McQueen wished that he had been able to think faster; that he would have been able to give that quote to her. He found her earnestness, her determination compelling. 

As she put the equipment away, Kylen formed her next words carefully. If she were to ask McQueen if he wanted her to stay he would probably say 'no,' as a point of pride. And if she were to ask him if he wanted her to leave he would think that she wanted to go. She finally decided not to ask a question at all.

"Tell me when you want me to leave. I can stay as long as you like." 

McQueen felt a little discomforted by her remark. It was rare for someone to treat him with such courtesy. Military courtesy, yes, he had earned that and expected it, but rarely personal courtesy.

"Can I get you anything, Colonel? Maybe something from your bag?" she asked.

"What bag?" he asked. McQueen thought that all his belongings were probably packed, in storage and waiting for room on a transport off the Saratoga. The way these things worked it would probably be months before his stuff caught up with him.

"Your carry-on," Kylen said as she started looking through cabinets.

"Carry-on? What are you talking about?"

"This," she said as she turned to him with a triumphant look. "The Black officer gave it to the corpsman. It has your name on it."

"Glen," he whispered. His friend, Commodore Ross, had thought to send along a few things. He recognized the writing. Only Glen would think to do that. 

As Kylen handed it to him, McQueen automatically corrected her: "It's a musette bag not a carry-on." 

"Musette," she repeated.

He began to go through the contents, removing the items and placing them on the bed. A beret, and a cap.

"Hats?" Kylen questioned.

"In the corps they are referred to as "Covers," he corrected.

"Covers," she parroted.

McQueen shot her an unpleasant look.

Kylen tried to defend herself against 'The Look.' "I'm not being smart. I just realized that I better start to learn all this stuff since Nathan is in the Marines."

"Right," McQueen tentatively accepted her explanation.

"Colonel, how long will Nathan be in?" she asked, her voice small and oddly childlike at that moment.

Before he could temper his response, McQueen heard himself recite by rote: "Duration plus six months."

Kylen was visibly moved by this remark. McQueen felt rotten having said it, but it was the truth and there was little he could do to ease let alone change the facts.

"Kylen, I'm sorry."

"I understand," she responded in the same small voice.

He pulled out a couple books, reading their spines before placing them on his lap. Ross had thrown in the wedding photograph, which McQueen placed, to the side. A deck of cards. His butterfly knife. There was a picture of Glen's kids with an address and phone number on the back. _"Of course you jerk, I'll call your kids," _he laughed to himself. His first purple heart and finally a few of his brushes, which were, unfortunately, the worse for the wear.

"Sumi-e or watercolor?" Kylen asked genuinely surprised. The sight of the brushes had succeeded in breaking into her private thoughts. 

McQueen felt inexplicably embarrassed but thoughtful that she would know the differences between the disciplines, let alone the name of the form. "Sumi-e... Mostly," he offered rather shy at having admitted his avocation.

"These are the real thing. Not synthetic. I'm impressed," Kylen said honestly. 

Sumi-e - Calligraphy - This expression of self was a very personal thing to McQueen. He read her face looking for any traces of sarcasm. There weren't any. She was being truthful. 

"I tried but I didn't have the self-discipline for it, I guess," she offered. "It's the process, isn't it? ... Not just the end result. The doing is what brings the satisfaction. At least it works that way for me. Its something that you have to get out. Doing the work is what brings the release. I believe that people make art because they have to...not because they want to. No one puts themselves through it if they have a choice." She was rapidly becoming embarrassed by her self-revelation. "Let me take those brushes. These are rare and really valuable. I'll shape them up again before they get ruined. I'll see if I can find something to protect them later." _ "He's an artist. Well, General Sherman was supposedly a fair painter. But I didn't expect this to be behind 'Door Number Four''."_

She took the brushes to the sink, happy to be doing something. This whole thing was more than slightly surreal after the virtual warfare that had taken place in the room a while earlier. It was almost like the prison camp. Surreal. _"Alice through the looking glass all over again." _ Kylen wet the brushes and started to shape them. 

McQueen had been surprised - again. Very few people caught him off guard and Kylen had this odd capacity to keep surprising him. He had never heard anyone explain the satisfaction of making art and the inner drive of the process as well as she just had. He hadn't ever heard that term either - making art - and he liked it greatly. 

He watched her working on the brushes. The work was more than serviceable. She did a pretty good job. Not as he would do it but it seemed ungracious to make a complaint. 

As if sensing his observation she looked up. "I'm sorry, these are yours. Here, you better finish this up. Do 'em how you like 'em. I know how artists can be about their brushes." McQueen tilted his head in the way of a question.

"I used paint, " she said sadly. "Gave it up to go to Tellus. No room for the stuff on the flight there. Maybe I can start again now." McQueen nodded. He had always found civilians to be confusing. He was never sure what they were looking for and he again couldn't think of an adequate response.

McQueen took the brushes she was handing him and did a quick touch up on a couple of them. He then stuck one in his mouth, pulling it through his lips to get the shape he wanted. He gave Kylen a guilty look. She laughed openly.

" Tsk... Tsk... Tsk," she admonished. " You should see the look on your face," she laughed. "You raise seven sheets of hell with the nurses and then look guilty because you get caught with a brush in your mouth. Don't worry. McQueen, I've pulled a few brushes that way myself. I know that we aren't supposed to do it but I don't know of an artist who doesn't on occasion. " She laughed again, shaking her head. "OK, pick out a book and I'll get this all packed back up for you." 

Kylen began to repack the bag. She picked up the photograph. _"And what have we here? Well, hello, behind door number five.... A wife. McQueen, aren't you a cool drink of water?"_ She stuffed the frame into the bag. She then picked up the knife. She couldn't remember when she had seen one before but she did know what it was. She fingered it with what could almost be described as longing. It was cool, efficient and dispassionate and she wanted one like it for herself. She never wanted to feel defenseless again. _"I wonder if I can get him to teach me how to use this?"_

McQueen had to admit to himself that he was enjoying her company. He was tired but welcomed the distraction. He really didn't want to see any more Nordic warriors in his dreams. He hoped to avoid the issue of sleep for a while longer.

"Poker?" he asked holding up the deck.

"Don't know how," she replied. "Beside I think you should rest and be quiet for a while. Tell me, is poker a Marine thing that I need to learn?"

"Not particularly, but it is a 5-8 thing. Either learn it or get used to it," he warned only half joking.

"Yes, Sir."

"Kylen, Have Nathan explain the difference between "Yes, Sir " and "Aye, aye, Sir." He handed her one of the books and the two settled in to read what was at hand. 

*******

Howard had spent his afternoon reading the reports on the debriefings and was spending his evening with a bourbon mulling over what he had seen pass between Celina, Kylen and Lt. Colonel McQueen, T.C. When he had checked in to see McQueen before dinner, Howard had found the two of them sleeping peacefully with books open on their laps. He had greeted Kylen in the passageway that evening. Her hair had been wet again from another shower.

It had been Howard's observation that most people actually really did have surprising depths - strengths only hinted at. Depths, which rarely had to be called into service, and also dark places that were better left hidden. These two, however, lived in the deep end of the pool. They were part of that rare class of individuals whose fullness of character spilled over. They walked in the depths. These two each had their own underground source to draw from. 

Well, he would see them tomorrow. He had good news for McQueen. Plus, Howard thought, if McQueen was up for it that they would continue Kylen's debriefing in McQueen's quarters. Howard was privy to McQueen's bombing mission and thought that the Colonel would probably be interested in Kazbek. There was the additional bonus that Kylen might give more information if she felt secure. She obviously felt secure with McQueen and drew strength from him. She was not intimidated by the man, which was a rarity, and a question that Howard had yet to answer for himself.

Howard wished that his wife could meet Celina, Kylen and McQueen, Lt. Col. T.C. She would like them very much. He had to admit that bourbon threw a light on the sentimental side of his nature. 

End Chapter Nine

Literary Giants M.Wheels


	10. Shakespeare

Chapter Ten - Shakespeare

On the second morning aboard the high-speed transport vessel, Asjiki, Kylen found lists posted in the Mess during breakfast. She was scheduled for an hour and a half with Aerotech and an additional hour and a half with the Alien Interpretation Unit - the Spooks. She groaned. Kylen had decided to place her trust in Howard and Marine Intelligence. She did not like these other people - and it had been more than McQueen's influence on her impressions. They were oily, somehow slimy - wolves in sheep's clothing. This was going to be an ordeal.

After bolting a quick meal, Howard grabbed his coffee and went to see the Colonel. McQueen was sullenly picking at his breakfast of cream of wheat and applesauce. He was irritated that no one cared to knock before entering his space no matter who they were. 

The two men sized each other up. Howard spoke first. "Well, Colonel, you'll be glad to know that I can give the orders to lift the guard."

McQueen was silent. He didn't believe that anyone else at the conference had lived and hadn't been surprised that as the only survivor of the Peace Talks he had been under guard. _"After all, who better to take the fall than an InVitro?" _ He had been wondering if he would be court-martialed. The politicos were not averse to offering up a sacrificial lamb in the face of such an enormous screw up. McQueen had been there before.

Howard continued, "The story has gotten around, and there are copies of the video tape in enough powerful hands that we feel that you are no longer considered to be a target."

__

"I hadn't even considered that scenario - that I had knowledge that many would consider dangerous - that I could be targeted for assassination." McQueen felt a little foolish.

Howard went on, "With Aerotech slithering around, it was felt best to ensure your protection under the guise of Intelligence. In any case, the cat is out of the bag, and the fox is in with the chickens. The disks will not be made public - at least not yet, but, as I said, enough Brass know what went on in the meeting. People are scrambling, Colonel McQueen. Watch your six. In fact, I was thinking, Sir, until we reach Earth it might be wise to continue the guard. We have been pretty tight on communications on this trip and I don't know who may or may not have gotten the news."

"Thank you for the heads up, and your attention in this matter, Major," McQueen offered. "I agree with your assessment. Let's 'Play out the play.' Continue with the guard."

"Colonel McQueen it has been my pleasure. By the way, just to let you know, you will be decorated for your actions, by word of the Commandant himself. The Brass is just trying to figure out which decoration. They are, I understand, debating if this was a combat or non-combat situation." Howard and McQueen both smirked, bemused at the workings of the Top Brass.

"Colonel, may I ask your indulgence in another matter? It concerns Miss Celina, Sir. I was wondering if the Colonel would consent to be present during my afternoon debriefing with her?" McQueen looked quizzically at the Major, gesturing for the man to continue.

"Sir, this could serve several purposes. I have observed that Miss Celina is very comfortable with and obviously trusts the Colonel. I was hoping that your presence might help to speed things along. She appears to be one of the most stable and resilient of the survivors. She has a terrific memory, Sir, and an eye for detail. In addition, Colonel, I must tell you that I am privy to your involvement on Kazbek. I've read your reports. You and I both know that we have to mount an operation to take Kazbek, and the sooner the better. The resources on planet are far too important to leave in enemy hands. The more intelligence we have the better. You have been there, Sir. You may be able to have questions that I do not. I'm sure your analysis will be helpful." Howard briefly paused. "And finally, with respect, I thought that this would provide a diversion for you, Sir, in lieu of injections of 'be-good,' he concluded.

McQueen responded. "Well, Major, I must tell you that I'm still on healthy doses of pain killers, but they have cut back on the 'Be-Good.' I'll give it a shot. If I burn out, I'll let you know."

"With respect, Colonel, may I suggest that you consider letting Miss Celina know - without any details, of course - that you were once a POW. She hasn't verbalized any feelings of guilt yet, Sir, but I'm sure that she will sooner or later. It might be helpful if she felt that she didn't have to shade her responses. That you would understand, Sir."

McQueen considered the request for a few seconds. He had to admit that, in spite of any personal uneasiness, the request made good sense. "I'll consider your request, Major. Let's see how things go. I assume that you have told them as little as possible about the war?"

"Correct"

"Well then, Major, I'll see you after lunch."

"By your leave, Colonel."

"Yes, Major, dismissed."

After Howard had left McQueen reflected how the knowledge and events of the morning had brought about the return of his rank and courtesy. He felt much more like himself. 

********************************************************************

Howard spent an unproductive morning. Two hours reviewing reports and two hours attempting to debrief a pitiful young man from Michigan. No insights or information there. The poor guy undoubtedly had information and wasn't trying to hide anything. He was just too strung out.

Kylen did her best to play stupid - but not too stupid - with Aerotech. The Spooks were tougher. Bobbing and weaving with them was an art form. She told them only the essentials, and was sure that they knew she was not exactly forthright. 

McQueen rested quietly, marshaling his energy. He even slept, and didn't remember having nightmares. He was the perfect patient for four hours. It was about all he could stand. McQueen's good behavior started to make the nurses almost as nervous as his fits of temper.

After lunch Major Howard picked up an extra orange for Kylen. Her 'Keeper' had told him that she had wolfed her lunch and was going to see McQueen. Howard loved it when a plan came together.

Kylen felt ready to jump out of her skin. McQueen had been correct in his assessment of the Spooks. Those people made her feel somehow soiled - slimy - and she had taken another shower after lunch. Anything to calm down. She wanted to be with Nathan. She wanted to be at home. She wanted to be away from these people. McQueen's instruction_: "Don't whine"_ echoed in her ears, but that was exactly what she wanted to do. Kylen went looking for the only home and security she could think of at that moment. She went to see McQueen - her hair still wet and wrapped up in a towel.

When she entered McQueen's quarters the nurse was setting up his lunch tray. "I'll do that." Kylen said, virtually ordering the nurse from the room. McQueen could see that she had had a brutal morning. _"Why me? " _he sighed to himself. _"How did I let this happen? Hell, admit it. Even if I do feel like shit, I would be pissed off if she hadn't come to me first if she was troubled. How did I let this happen? Why do we feel this responsibility for one another? Where is a way out of this mess? "_ As he began to eat Kylen began slowly pacing back and forth. Finally, he could not take it anymore. "Sit," he ordered. "Dry your hair."

Kylen pulled over a chair, put her head down, and began to vigorously dry her hair.

"Bad morning?" he asked

"Believe it," her answer.

"Aerotech?" he pressed.

"And the Spooks," she replied. She worked on her hair as if it was an enemy. "Hell, I should just cut all this off." She raised her head and looked him in the eyes. McQueen could tell she was close to the edge. 

"Will I ever feel clean again?"

The question startled McQueen. Startled him because he had experienced the same feelings after his liberation. "Yes, you will. And don't let them make it worse. Don't give them that power over you, Kylen," he said through clenched teeth. 

"Bunch-backed toads," she spat, blowing off steam.

"Breeders of dire events," he rejoined

"Devils that tempt most cunningly." Kylen came back.

Colonel McQueen began pushing her - letting her warm to the game and vent. He came back. "Living dead men."

Kylen: " Rabble of vile confederates"

McQueen: "Base bondsmen"

Kylen: "Whoresons" 

McQueen: "Hell's Black intelligencers."

That one was too good. McQueen knew it and smiled. Kylen was forced to laugh, even if it was slightly bitter. "I can't top that one. Shakespearean insults - real aracana - Truly the pastime of unoccupied minds," she said with some sarcasm.

McQueen was reminded of Wang. Paul had held a passionate devotion to the works of Shakespeare. Paul Wang. A true poet's soul, plus a gift for sarcasm. McQueen had been forced to routinely call that young man's mouth into check. They had shared bonds - shared scars. It would hurt for a long time yet.

Kylen saw the change in McQueen and intuitively guessed the reason. "I didn't mean to bring up anything to upset you."

McQueen was going to speak but found that he could not bring himself to tell her about Wang. No, Nathan would have to do that. "It's alright," he said and gave her a small smile. "A lot of the memories are good ones."

"I'll feel clean and you will enjoy Shakespeare again," she comforted. She touched his arm lightly, speaking softly: 

"Seldom he smiles, and smiles in such a sort 

As if he mocked himself and scorned his spirit

That could be moved to smile at anything."

__

"My God, but she can see inside my soul," McQueen thought, and felt himself beginning to blush. 

By standing in the anteroom, Howard had been able to watch McQueen and Celina for a few moments. The two seemed to be conversing quietly while a Kylen dried her hair. Again. They seemed an unlikely team at first glance, but he had seen stranger alliances formed under pressure. He wondered what they talked about. They had, in the course of less than seventy-two hours, formed a remarkably close bond. _"Well, it helps when people want to like each other,"_ he reflected.

Howard was also aware that they both would be watching him closely as he probed Kylen's memories. This was part of Intelligence gathering not an investigation. Any hint of aggression from him - if he pushed too hard - They would read it in each other. The two would close ranks taking their cues from one another. McQueen would protect her just as she had protected him. Howard gave the hatch a perfunctory knock and entered the room.

Kylen looked up as he entered. "Yond Howard has a lean and hungry look."

McQueen finished the line. "He thinks too much: such men are dangerous."

__

"Ouch. Things must not have gone well for Celina this morning. McQueen has just given me a warning and he as given her a warning about me as well. Point, McQueen," Howard reflected. 

'I gather, Miss Celina, that your morning was not particularly pleasant," Howard said, offering her an orange he had taken from the Mess. Kylen whirled on him, opened her mouth to speak - then thought better of it. She turned back and flounced into the chair.

Howard spoke again: "Miss Celina, ... Kylen, If it is OK with you, I thought we'd continue our discussion right here. Colonel McQueen has consented." 

"Okayyyyy...?" Kylen dragged out her reply, making it a question. "_What the hell is this all about?"_ she thought.

Howard was a little unsettled by her hesitation. He had thought she would leap at the offer. "We can, of course, go somewhere else. I just thought we could occupy The Colonel this afternoon. He has a professional interest in Kazbek."

"Is that its name? The planet?" Kylen almost snapped. _"Occupy the Colonel. Yea, I'll bet, "_ she thought to herself. McQueen had told her to read the details and watch the relationships. "_They are all so careful not to ask direct questions about the planet - the mine but they all encouraged it's discussion. McQueen has an interest. Howard obviously cleared this with him. What do they really want?"_ She rose and again started to pace. It was obvious that she was pondering something. A thought began to dawn on her. She turned to face the men head on.

"Aerotech and The Spooks... What are they hiding?"

McQueen and Howard - both trained interrogators - did not betray the fact that their blood pressures had just shot up. Kylen, however, was a paramedic, and looked up at McQueen's monitor in time to see that his heart rate had jumped. She looked at his chest and saw that he was controlling his breathing. When she looked back up she saw that his heart rate had returned to normal. _"It's true - A man of remarkable self- control."_

"It's more than just us, isn't it? - Something much bigger than just forty survivors," she continued. They did not answer her. "Well, gentlemen, is this tension I'm sensing? Was it something I said?" she threw out, dripping sarcasm. "If this wasn't obviously such a serious thing I'd be tempted to crack a joke right about now."

Howard cleared his throat. "It's called 'Need To Know,' Kylen."

Kylen continued to pace for a few more seconds. She was making up her mind. She felt that the two of them had conspired to pull a fast one on her, but she couldn't see the catch. So far Howard had been honest - more or less. And McQueen did not have a duplicitous nature. Kylen wasn't sure how she knew that fact but she felt it to be the truth. She was just sick and tired of being 'handled,' of being manipulated. _"OK, Gentlemen."_

"Once more into the breach," she challenged them. She looked into McQueen's eyes. "Sometimes Shakespeare is just too easy," she said to him, not caring if Howard heard and understood or not.

"It's life that's hard," McQueen answered closing their private circle.

Kylen had resumed her seat, mollified but not placated. She concentrated on McQueen. "So you were there." A statement of fact. She shot a quick glance at the monitor. The lines were steady and regular. McQueen had schooled himself. She would not catch him again. He did not answer her. It was obvious. Kylen broke off the game of wills. McQueen would never answer her question. It was pointless, but there was something that she felt she had to know and she framed her question carefully.

"Do you think, either of you, that anyone knew where we were?"

Howard spoke immediately. "I can guarantee you that no one in Marine Intelligence had any knowledge of your whereabouts prior to your seeing the 5-8."

Kylen considered his remark. She believed him, but she also heard the veiled implication: Howard could not swear to the fact that others may have known - and that those people had withheld that information. It left a very bad taste in her mouth.

McQueen and Howard watched as her expression and demeanor changed. She was ready to talk. Kylen did not wait for Howard to ask any questions - she just started in.

"A number of people weren't sure if the soldiers we saw were real. I only saw Nathan for a few seconds but I knew. I knew," she repeated very quietly. She gave McQueen a little smile he could only describe as triumphant. 

McQueen had seen that same absolute knowledge in Nathan. There had been several times that Nathan had just believed - had just known. And when Nathan had been confronted by Kylen's doppelganger - the embodiment of what he had most desired - Nathan had just known that it was false. McQueen himself had also just known. He had experienced that kind of knowledge intimately last Christmas. When he had just known that the Kids were alive. He nodded his understanding. Kylen continued.

"The AIs would never tell us what happened to the soldiers - the marines. They would just say 'They're gone.' We hoped that they had escaped - that someone would come for us, but many people thought that they had been executed." She stopped momentarily remembering facing the fear that Nathan had been killed. "A few people tried to convince me that I hadn't really seen Nathan...that I hadn't almost touched him. Other people tried to convince me that he was dead. But I didn't believe that...I couldn't believe that. I was right wasn't I?"

"Yes, you were right." Howard said by way of prompting her as much as reassuring her.

McQueen could read Howard's double intent, and it did not please him so he added: "Nathan was right too, Kylen. He knew that you were alive. He TOLD me you were alive many times." Kylen did not look up but he could see a shy smile play briefly across her face.

Kylen continued. "It is a terrible thing. To have hope that comes to nothing. It sucks out your soul." She held herself rigid. Kylen felt the need to control herself physically in order to strengthen her emotional hold. "It was ... difficult ... to hear the screams again. They hadn't done it to any of us for months... "

"They hadn't interrogated any of you for months?" Howard asked.

"They hadn't tortured any of us," she corrected bitterly, looking at Howard as if he were a simpleton.

"Go on," prompted McQueen.

Kylen shook her head 'no' and looked down at her hands in her lap. She was distantly aware of how dreadful up her hands looked. She unconsciously moved them under her legs to hide them. "Look, they never got around to me, all right?" she reacted defensively. "But I ...heard enough. I saw the results. There was enough other stuff........." She sat like a statue staring into her lap. Kylen could not bring herself to look at either man. She had not anticipated that she would still feel the loss. She was confused and anxious. She felt like a fraud. It was all so embarrassing and somehow shameful.

Howard and McQueen knew that she was retreating into herself. McQueen caught Howard's eye. He nodded once to the Major, who nodded the affirmative. _"All right, Colonel, play your hand," _Howard thought.

McQueen spoke very evenly. "Kylen, I asked you the other day what you had learned in prison. I asked you what the rules were." She nodded yes.

"Kylen, you survived. You will not embarrass yourself, and you won't embarrass us either. I don't think that anything you say will shock me. I learned those same rules," he said. McQueen felt her embarrassment and knew that she felt somehow ashamed about events over which she had had no control. He paused, weighing the cost of the truth. He could maintain his privacy or he could ease her discomfort. McQueen decided to take the leap. He caught Howard's eye and jerked his head toward the door. _"I'm willing to talk to her about this but not you, buddy,"_ he thought.

Howard picked up on what was clearly an order and left the room without a word.

"Kylen," McQueen called quietly. She would not look at him. 

"Kylen," he repeated, calling her back into the present. 

"I had to learn those same rules," he said again. "I was held - a prisoner - eight years ago...a POW... The AIs..." She held up her hand to silence him, nodding her understanding and sparing him the need to continue. The room was still. 

Kylen peered up at McQueen through her hair, half hidden behind the curls. She knew instinctively what that admission had cost him. _"I wonder if eight years from now I'll be able to say that?"_ "I was held - a prisoner," she repeated his words. _"I don't believe that I could be as generous as he is. Slavery is soul destroying."_ Kylen had seen scars on McQueen's chest and back. She hadn't really thought about them before. They were old scars. He was a warrior. It had fit. But now they took on a new meaning. Her memory was filled with the sounds of the torture - of people screaming. She had seen and heard AI handiwork. She had bit her lip until it bled at that time, and she found that she was biting it again. She could not separate this man she so admired from the screams in her head.

"Will you excuse me for a moment," she mumbled and quietly rose, abstracted, stiff and oddly formal. She walked to the small sink, her back to the man. She locked her hands around the smooth stainless steel edges, her knuckles white. She felt a few small tears, hot on her cheeks. Kylen lead forward and promptly lost her lunch.

Kylen had not shed a tear in more than six months. She had trained her emotions. She leaned her forehead against the mirror above the sink. It felt cool. She turned on the water and washed the remains of her lunch down the drain. _"If I can get this cleaned up, then I won't think about the screams. They will go away and I won't see the scars anymore - if I can get this cleaned up, "_ she thought, knowing it to be irrational. She was momentarily stuck emotionally, and could see no way out.

McQueen watched in silence. _"This is like watching a car wreck. I know that it is wrong to look but I just can't stop myself. This is where I'm supposed to say something profound and comforting, but I can't think of a damn thing to say. I never have been able to come up with what to say. It drove Amy nuts. Everything I say sounds hollow to me. Things I've tried to say to West, Vansen, ... Wang, Hawkes... and even Vanessa when they had come to me...needed me ... The things I tried to say all came up short. Hell, even Glen... "_ McQueen was relieved that he couldn't get out of the bed - relieved that he didn't have to decide whether or not to try and comfort her with his touch. Glad that he was unable approach her. 

Kylen controlled her tears. "This was what you were trying to tell me...... Not just what their questions would make me remember, but what the memories would do to my insides." 

Her reaction was more than the horrific memories - the fears. She realized that she had spent months building walls and concocting methods of processing her feelings - an almost abstract method of dealing with things. None of which had any value anymore. Kylen had been so sure to always hang onto herself and now she felt that she was losing her parameters. Losing those things that had held her together. She had spent all her energy to cultivate a way of living that no longer had any meaning. _"I have no purpose - no definition."_ Kylen didn't know how she was going to build a new life. 

"It's what you wanted to tell me on the transport, isn't it?" she asked, talking into the mirror where she could see half of his face reflected. She wasn't sure she could stand to look him full in the face at that moment. She saw him nod at her reflection.

It filled McQueen with a deep sorrow. _"It is a terrible thing to go through. What Wang and I lived through and with.... But we had understood the risk and had received training - as inadequate as it was. No one can truly train you to face it, but this kid had been totally unprepared."_

McQueen thought: _"And what I won't tell you, Kylen, is that you will carry this with you wherever you go - wherever you are for the rest of you life. I am so sorry, Kylen. So very, very sorry but I can't make it go away. No_ _matter what any of us says or does to help you, in the final analysis you have to make your own way through."_ It made him feel sick inside.

Kylen began to wash her hands and face. She began to recite in a quiet voice: "The Thane of Fife had a wife. Where is she now? What, will these hands ne'er be clean? No more o' that, my lord, no more o' that." 

McQueen felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. _"Is she losing it?"_ He held himself absolutely still. Lady Macbeth. Never, in a million years, would he have anticipated Kylen saying those words. _"What does this signal? This is a dangerous, dangerous thing, and it's going from bad to worse. How do I get out of this? How do I get her out of this?"_

"Kylen," he said firmly. "Shakespeare is easy." It was not an invitation or a diversion. He was using their code to call her into order. He watched as she finished washing. She finally reached for a towel, and after drying her face, she finally responded.

"It's life that's hard," she said, looking up again at his half reflection in the mirror. _"Mirror, Mirror,"_ she thought. "It's OK, McQueen, I'm here." Kylen took in a deep breath and turned to face him. "You aren't going to let me hide in words are you?"

"Now is not the time to hide, Kylen." 

"Oh, it looks pretty good to me." She answered with an ironic laugh. McQueen waited for a few seconds then replied. 

"It's not. I know this. Black thoughts grow best in the dark. Whatever is inside your head will march around up there and take over if you don't take control." 

"And you'll now tell me that I can learn from this and go forward?" she asked bitterly.

"All I can tell you, Kylen, is that is what I did."

"And what did you learn, Colonel?"

"What I learned probably will not help you at all, Kylen. Its something I think you already know." McQueen paused, took in a deep breath and continued.

"Tanks are taught that their lives have no meaning - no worth. That we are cheap and without value. I used to wait to die.... Knowing it would be soon.... All my life - waiting to be the next one to die. You don't really live when that is your expectation. You just take up space. ... But you know that ...... When I was a prisoner.... When I was tortured ..... I learned that life is valuable, and more importantly, I learned that I wanted to live. To live - not just be alive. For the first time, I really cared about having a life - of doing more than just surviving. And I cared about what I would do with my life - how I would live it."

His thoughts had come out of his mouth fully formed. McQueen knew that he had never been conscious of them before. He had spoken a realization that he had never before put into words. He had spoken a central truth of his being for the first time.

Kylen remained silent and considered his story. McQueen was correct - it was something that she knew only too well - life is valuable. "I did something.... Something that I can't let go of," she admitted. "You'll think that it's stupid, but it's always right behind me. I sometimes dream about it and I wake up sweating."

"Tell me." Not that McQueen wanted to know - in truth, he did not. He really didn't want his own memories fanned back into life. Unfortunately, it was all he could offer her at the moment.

Kylen took a step forward. She stood gripping the rail at the end of his bed, weighing what he had said about black thoughts. She had never told this to anyone. Not to any of the other colonists - and she knew that she would never tell anyone in her family. But it was a weight she wanted lifted. _"He might understand. I'll keep it short and sweet. Get it out fast."_

"It was the second day after the crash.... A bunch of us came back to the site... We had run into the hills - had gotten away. But we came back to see if anyone else was alive, and to see if we could find any supplies. The Chigs - that's what you call them right? (McQueen nodded yes) The Chigs were gone. There were still fires burning. Fuel for our equipment I guess. We hung our ID tags on a tree for rescuers to find. I guess no one ever found them."

__

"That's not true, Kylen, Nathan found them," McQueen thought, but he did not interrupt her story.

"I was over on the North side looking for supplies. There weren't many bodies there."

McQueen noted how her voice cracked when she said 'bodies.' There was no way she could have been prepared for the carnage of the crash.

"I was in the brush. I had found a few things and a whole box of freeze dried food." She had a small smile remembering her success. "I was carrying the things back when I found it." Kylen stopped momentarily and took in a few deep breaths. "The Chig. It was wounded. From one of the secondary explosions after we crashed, I guess. It was oozing green stuff from a lot of cuts through the armor," she gestured. "Colonel, you know what was strange? I knew what it wanted."

"Do you mean telepathically?" he whispered

"No," she continued thoughtfully. "You know how people who don't speak the same language can still sometimes communicate.... Basic things.... Hot, cold, thirst, sleep. .... Things like that."

"I understand," McQueen said softly, hoping to get her back on track.

"It held out its hand..... It asked me to help." 

McQueen's face remained unchanged, but he felt himself swallow - hard. "Did it have a weapon?" he asked softly. Kylen shook her head no and went on.

"With its other hand it was holding one of the tubes to its helmet. I could see little jets of gas leaking out." 

__

"My God," thought McQueen. _"Forty-eight hours trying to hold your respirator together ...hoping that it wouldn't fail. Waiting to suffocate. No wonder it was asking for help. "_

"I sat down and watched it. I didn't help. I sat there and watched the gas leak out. Just sat there as it tried to hold the tubes together. It couldn't anymore.... It was too weak ... I just watched the gas escape ... a white mist... I just looked into its face.... Into it's mask ... until ... I don't know how long it took. It seemed to take forever ..... Finally it died. It was like I was outside of myself watching it happen."

"You couldn't treat its wounds, Kylen," McQueen offered, sensing her feelings of guilt. "You couldn't have fixed its equipment." 

"But I didn't even try ... I didn't raise a finger... and because I didn't, I killed it. ... And I was glad.... Satisfied when it died. ... When I allowed it to die." Her voice breaking, barely controlled she added: "I spat in its face after. Then I picked up the food and things, and walked back to the group. Two days later... I was watching from the rocks.... They came back. I watched them take the dead one into the cave. We found the grave later. The Chigs captured five of us that day."

"Kylen, they had just shot down your vessel. They had murdered your friends," McQueen said. He was only able to understand her feeling of guilt because she said it was what she felt. He understood but he could not identify with the concept of an act of mercy to a Chig left undone.

"That's one of the things that makes it so bad.... I was the same as they were. But the thing that I can't get out of my head ... What I dream about... If I had helped it ... If it had seen that we were just colonists ... just people.... That I might have changed their minds. They might have treated us better..... They might have let us go."

McQueen could see that, for her, this was a horrifying possibility - one he had never considered. "I don't know, Kylen, It could have happened that way, but it is equally likely that it would have killed you. It is impossible to follow their train of thought. Just when you think they are being honorable, they change. This I know to be true." 

He pointed to the space where his right leg should have been. "In eighteen months, I've only heard of one compassionate act from a Chig." He briefly thought of the inexplicable transmissions about the Comet that someone - or something - had sent to the 5-8.

"Maybe." It was all she could concede at the moment. "Thanks for listening. Maybe I'll start to feel better. Colonel McQueen, could you please do me a favor? Could you please tell Major Howard for me? I think I can answer questions about it if he asks, but I really don't want to tell that story again. I'll never tell it."

"I'll take care of Howard. Never say never, Kylen. West will understand. You have your family. They will comfort you ... But you are right, its probably best if you never tell them," he told her. 

"I know that you don't tell your family everything..... No soldier does," she said

"I don't have a family," he said

"What about your wife?" Kylen asked before she could think better of it.

McQueen was instantly furious at her invasion of his privacy. It showed on his face.

Kylen tried to back pedal." I saw her picture when I helped you repack your musette bag." 

McQueen was chastened, and regretted his flare-up, even though he had managed to hold his tongue. "Ex-wife," he said. "No, I didn't tell her everything," he admitted, wanting to cover his momentary loss of control.

"You still in love with her?" Kylen asked. McQueen looked vaguely surprised at her question. No one had ever asked him. He had to think for a second. He knew then that his hesitation meant that, indeed, he was no longer 'in love' with Amy. He looked up at Kylen. McQueen knew that he had loved Amy the best way that he knew how to at the time. But McQueen knew that the love he had felt was not same type of love that Nathan felt for Kylen. The type of love - a way of loving - that it appeared she returned to Nathan. He had never had that 'totality' - that absolute certainty. He had always been afraid. Afraid he would do something wrong. Afraid that Amy would regret it. Afraid that it would end. And it had. 

He shook his head no. "I don't think so."

"So you keep this picture to remind you... of what?" Kylen pushed gently.

McQueen looked at her blankly. He knew why he had kept the photograph, but he wasn't willing to share the reasons with Kylen. It had to do with holding on to a moment of happiness. It had to do with beating addictions. And it had to do with reminding himself not to leave himself open again. It had become a form of self-discipline ..... To look at that picture every day. He doubted that Kylen would understand, even if he would choose to tell her ....... Which he did not.

"That was presumptuous of me, McQueen. I apologize," she said, ending the topic.

"Have you heard from your family?" McQueen asked to keep things moving. 

"Yes," she smiled openly, relieved to be off of the sore subject of his ex-wife. "The whole 'fam damnly.'" All nine of them will be there when I get home." She noted McQueen's wonderment at such a large family. Though encouraged after the plague, it was still unusual. "My parents took 'replenish the Earth' seriously," she chuckled. "There is Christian, Aislen, the twins: Connor and Ewan. Then me - I'm the middle child. After me there is Emrys, then the second twins Eithne and Allston - girl and boy, then the baby Bridgid - Bridee. Five brothers, three sisters, my father and me. Ten total. We are a real team. Very close."

"Well, you'll be surrounded by people who love you. It won't solve everything but it can make your life easier." McQueen offered. _"I can't even imagine such a family. Hell, I can only remember three of the names she rattled off." _

Kylen thought of her brothers and sisters. Her father. She began to feel weepy again. She wanted to see her family. To be at home.

McQueen saw her change, and offered her and himself a way out of more emotional displays. "Why don't you take a few minutes for yourself. I'll tell Howard to meet us here in a half hour or so."

"Thanks," Kylen replied her voice tight with emotion. She left the room.

Almost immediately after Kylen had left, Howard reentered. "Aerotech and the Spooks? She doesn't miss much does she?" said Howard.

McQueen gave a rather contemptuous snort. "She reads much; she is a great observer, and she looks quite through the deeds of men," he paraphrased.

"In faith," Howard countered honestly. "That was a dicey piece of business."

"Did you notice the wet hair?" asked McQueen

"Obsessive/compulsive? A bit early to tell but I've already sent word to the counselors to monitor that," Howard admitted.

"Did she tell you about the Chig, Major?"

"What Chig?" Howard inquired

"She believes that she killed one."

"Holy shit. She never said ........ Really? Holy Shit."

"A straggler, separated form it's squad evidently. Obviously wounded in one of the secondary explosions after the crash. It was down, dying. She found it. Its breathing pack was leaking and it was trying to put it back together. It saw her and gestured for help. She sat down and watched the gas leak out. ..... She just sat back and looked it in the face watching the gas leak out until it stopped moving.

"My God in heaven," Howard whispered. _"This is one tough little kid."_

"There is a lot she has to come to grips with, Major. And God is part of it. She still wants to feel forgiven." The two men were quiet for a while. 

"Have a seat." McQueen finally spoke. "Do you play poker? She'll be gone for a while, Major. Get ready, when she comes back she'll tell you more - and faster - than you are ready to write. There's a lot of water behind that dam. But hear this, Howard, I hold you responsible. If you allow anyone to damage her spirit, I'll find you."

"Colonel McQueen, If anyone damages her spirit, Sir, You'll be able to find the way there by looking for my taillights. They will be so far up that sorry SOB's butt the red light will shine out of their ears. Cut the cards." 

Kylen had placed her hand against the bulkhead to steady herself as she made her way down the passageway. She ducked into an empty anteroom two doors away and began to cry. McQueen's nurse heard the muffled sobs and quietly entered the room. "Come here, baby," she said softly, and took the young woman into her arms. Kylen clung to the nurse and sobbed with a violence that shocked them both. The nurse let Kylen cry for a few minutes without comment, until she calmed.

"Did they push too hard or did they hit a nerve?" the nurse gently demanded, handing Kylen more Kleenex.

"Nerve," Kylen explained.

"Want me to tell them to forget it?" 

"No, I want to get this over with."

"OK, It's probably best in the long run. There is stuff in the cabinet there to wash your face. Lay down for a few minutes and I'll tell them you'll be back ten mikes." As the nurse turned to go, Kylen grabbed her and kissed her on the cheek. 

The nurse was a full Commander, accustomed to all the rights and privileges due her rank. She was equal in rank to McQueen, and, in fact, she ranked him in length of service and by virtue of the fact that he was in the med bay. Here, she was outranked only by God himself. She would allow the debriefing to continue because it was probably best for the girl, but she was going to make damn sure that everyone knew who was in charge. She burst through the door to McQueen's room - stomped to the bed, and slammed a box of Kleenex down on the table with a satisfying thwack. Howard leapt to his feet. McQueen met the 'attack' with more equanimity, but knew that she could make him pay if she so chose.

She gave her orders: "She will be back in about ten minutes. She wants to get this over with. Just watch it you two. Major, I know you've got a bottle somewhere or you know someone who does. Now far be it for an R.N. to suggest using alcohol as a sedative, but I think that it might be a pleasant gesture if you were to offer the young lady a small - and I underline small - beverage when you are through. I WILL be checking in on The Colonel - and the girl - during the afternoon."

She left, stopping briefly in her quarters before returning to Kylen. She entered the room and handed Kylen a brush and a bottle of perfume. "Never go into battle without checking all your weapons, baby." It made Kylen laugh, and she quickly brushed her hair and put on a little perfume. It was something she had almost forgotten, and it smelled so good it almost made her cry again. She handed the things back to the nurse.

"I used to have nice hands," she said self-consciously

"And you will, again. They will heal and your spirit will heal too," the Commander said. She walked Kylen back to the debriefing. " Now, remember you are a bright, strong, attractive young woman with two high powered Marine officers waiting to hang on your every word." She kissed Kylen on the cheek and sent her into the room. The nurse went to put her things away wishing that she had a shot of Bourbon for herself. She felt like she needed one as well.

*********************************************

T O P S E C R E T 

ASJIKI

TO: USMC HDQRTS DEPARTMENT OF INTELLIGENCE

PERSONAL FROM: MAJOR HOWARD USMC TO GENERAL RADFORD USMC.

Dear General:

1. Memory problems: Many of the colonists have stated that it seemed that the AIs were starting to "forget" things. Names, dates, words to songs. I first attributed this to Psychological warfare. But now I don't think that may be the case. I think that they have been in situations where they couldn't wait for the modems to kick in - where they have been having to actually download info from each other. They may be running out of Memory. In any case they aren't communicating as smoothly. We are obviously continuing in this line of questioning.

2. Breakdown: The AIs have few or no spare parts. Several have broken down all together. Chig technology doesn't work for the AIs - Bioengenieering. We need to pass the word that AIs are going to be desperate for anything that can be modified to suit their purposes. Most of the POWs mention a sharp decrease in the number of AIs manning the mine after the removal of the 5-8. These units were never replaced. We know that McQueen and his squadron terminated 5 units inside the complex and approximately 15 on the ground. The AIs weren't able to effect repairs.

3. Personnel: Martin Aalto Guilio. You must meet with him ASAP. 

General, I think that Kylen Celina knows that she has valuable information. She just doesn't yet appreciate what we find valuable. Her fiancé, who I believe you have met, is Nathan West and is part of McQueen's 58th. Interestingly enough, Celina and McQueen seem to have developed a real personal bond. Not unusual given the circumstances, but rather unusual given McQueen's temperament. As you are aware, I conducted the second portion of her interrogation in his presence. I'd like to make his whereabouts known to her, Sir. It is imperative that she trusts us. She has developed a real antipathy towards Aerotech and the Alien Interp. Unit. We could still be colored with the same brush if we aren't circumspect in her handling. Celina is a remarkably resilient individual, strong willed and apparently stable. I've taken the liberty of scheduling a meeting between yourself and Celina day after tomorrow on your first afternoon with us. Let me know if you want this time changed.

Looking forward to continuing this discussion in person,

Best regards, 

Barton Howard.

End Chapter Ten

Literary Giants M.Wheels


	11. Owen

Chapter Eleven - Owen 

It was 0430 ship time when Howard woke Kylen. She was immediately alert, but still. _"She still reacts like a prisoner," _he thought, then spoke. "They are going to prep Colonel McQueen pretty soon.... For reentry and landing. I thought you'd like to say good-bye. I think things will go easier if you are there."

As they made their way through the darkened passageways, Howard told her that the Docs wanted McQueen anesthetized for reentry, due to the nature and extent of his injuries. The Asjiki would probably pull two 'G's.' If it was still working - no one had checked yet - his MEF device could handle it but it will be hell on two broken ribs. Kylen was forced to admit that, however unfortunate, it made sense. 

"He's not going to like this," she told the Major, who grimly nodded his agreement. The doctor, nurse and a guard were already in McQueen's room when they got there.

"Well, this can't be good if you brought along the little cheerleader." McQueen spoke bitterly and transfixed the room with his gaze.

Kylen ignored the insult and sat next to McQueen's bed while the Doctor explained the reasons for putting McQueen under. He then explained the procedure, which was straightforward. It was simply a general anesthetic. McQueen obviously detested the whole idea. 

"This isn't B.S. Colonel," Howard said. "I suggest you take the Doctor's offer. You don't have to put yourself through more - ahhh ... discomfort - than necessary. We still have the guard here to keep watch." 

"I'll stay with you, Colonel, until we land and then as long a I can after." Kylen spoke out of turn. She was making a promise. _"Let Howard sort out the details."_

"I'll allow Miss Celina to stay with you until we land. She'll keep an eye on things." The Major made it official.

McQueen curtly nodded his ascent to the procedure.

The Doctor spoke. "OK, Colonel, I'll put you under in a half hour or so. When you wake up you'll be snug in a hospital Earthside." 

Howard made an attempt to ease the mood in the room. "Colonel, have Kylen tell you about Martin and The Pink." He chuckled. "It's a fantastic bed time story. It has a happy ending and I hope both your stories have a happy ending as well." Howard held out his hand to McQueen who took it. " I'll look after Celina, Colonel. It has been an honor and a pleasure. I'll follow-up, Sir." With that, he left, taking everyone else with him. 

Kylen and McQueen sat silently together in the dimly lit room, awkward with each other for the first time. McQueen spoke first. " So tell me this fairytale... about what? The Pink?"

Kylen was thankful for the diversion. "It's not a fairytale it is real. But I don't really know the ending yet."

"Tell me anyway. Anything to take my mind off of this," McQueen blurted impatiently. He wanted a diversion.

"All right." Kylen agreed and began her story.

"Martin, ... Martin Aalto Guilio, is one of the InVitro colonists." (McQueen marveled at how Kylen could turn the name into a chant - almost a benediction). "One of the Replacements. That's how I first thought of them. The Replacements. I didn't really know him on the ship. I was pretty resentful at first. Angry. And by the time my emotions had caught up to my head ... It wasn't the fault of these people that one of us had to be bumped from the flight. Not them personally, you know?" (McQueen noted that she said 'people' and not 'tanks')..."Well, by then, my behavior pattern had been set up.... I was only just starting change ... To get to know one or two of them when it happened.... When we crashed." Kylen paused to shake the memory and then quietly continued.

"Two InVitros survived initially, Martin and Jessica. They were captured several days before I was. And when I got to the camp they were in pretty bad shape. The AI's targeted them." (McQueen was only too aware of just how well the AIs could target InVitros). "They weren't the only people tortured but they probably had it the worst. I was the only medical sub-specialist to survive. I did what I could. But ... Jessica died the third week we were held. She had felt such a great hope that Tellus would be different for her."

"Howard said this story was a happy one, Kylen." McQueen sought to change the direction of her thinking.

"He said happy ending ... and it might be. No one ever told you fairy tales did they McQueen?" Kylen asked rhetorically, but without the sarcasm that McQueen often appreciated. "The protagonists always face a struggle. The stories are meant to teach little children about life. To give them truth, but also give them hope."

McQueen had never thought about it before, but she was correct. No one had ever told him stories. "Martin?" he prompted. 

"How it ever happened, I don't know, but even after the torture - or maybe because of it - I don't know - But Martin has this incredibly gentle spirit - unguarded. He is young, just four years decanted. One of the very last batches on Earth. More open than any InVitro I've met before. It was like the pressure opened him up somehow. I can't explain it."

Kylen could see that McQueen didn't quite follow her. "McQueen, you have to meet him. You expect to see children and dogs following him. Birds should eat out of his hands or something. Like he is a Holy Man." McQueen felt momentarily vaguely disgusted at the idea of an InVitro Holy Man. He pictured a John the Baptist type wacko. Or worse, a cartoon character with birds flittering around his head.

Kylen could almost read his thoughts. "No, it's not like he is a prophet or a fanatic. He is a real person with real feelings and he can crack a mean joke on occasion. He is just truly good without being sappy."

McQueen suddenly thought of Damphousse and felt the pain of her loss. He had never met anyone as kind or as truly good as Vanessa Damphousse. Truly good without being sappy. "I understand," he murmured. 

Kylen went on. "The InVitros were last minute replacements but they weren't just people off of the streets. They did have skills. Poor Martin was bred to be a waste management and recycling engineer."

McQueen thought bitterly. "_Grow a Tank to handle your shit. Then send him into outer space to do more of the same."_

Kylen continued to speak, and cut off his thoughts. "The IVA is so bizarre. And it seems to me that they are unthinkingly cruel. How they designed Martin... Someone had to be either high or hungover... When they were filling in the genetic matrix for Martin someone thought it would be cute to give this guy a special gift. Martin has absolute pitch. Not perfect pitch but absolute pitch," she stressed. 

McQueen knew just enough about music to understand the difference - sort of. He was being drawn along with the story.

Kylen went on. "A gentle spirit, tempered by pain. Absolute pitch and a beautiful voice. And because of that Martin can find The Pink."

"The Pink?" McQueen asked, eager for her to continue ... Thinking that he knew her meaning, and if he did it would be a fantastic thing.

"The Pink. The rock we mined. It glows when it hits the air. It's pink so we called it The Pink." (McQueen did not correct her... He liked 'The Pink' more than' Sewell Fuel.' Kylen had always given him the right to choose. Let her call it anything she wanted) "One day or night ... who can tell in the mines but once four of us where deep down at the end of a tunnel in a little cave. The Bugs didn't go down there, and the AIs were far behind. They often got lazy and sloppy. We found a few pebbles of the stuff. Martin picked it up and held it. I'll never forget the look on his face. "It vibrates," he said and smiled. He handed the stone to us but we didn't feel it.... Not until Martin hummed a note. Then I could feel it vibrate too. Martin began to sing softly and the whole little cave seemed to vibrate. It was like being wrapped in a warm blanket. It was fantastic. Unexpected. It makes echoes seem hollow.... Like nothing. The pink surrounds you somehow. We had to smile. The Pink doesn't change. It doesn't glow more brightly or sing or even really makes a sound at all, but when Martin sings you can feel it. Martin sings the stone."

McQueen believed that Aerotech had to have found this sympathetic vibration.... But maybe they hadn't. He knew that they would not share that information if they had. This was a coup. A major coup. 

"And this you won't believe," Kylen whispered. "I don't know if I can make you see. We danced. Slowly. Easily. Martin singing and the rest of us dancing. Just for a couple of minutes. But we were so taken away. It was so..... Beautiful. One perfect note and the stone somehow replies. It's ridiculous, I know, but I think it was one of the most wonderful two minutes of my life. (McQueen had an uncanny vision of Kylen slowly dancing in the dark light of the cave - It was a fairytale) 

"It's not magic, McQueen, and in a way it's more than magic. It's just finding the perfect A flat minor. No hokus pokus. We used that knowledge against them after that. Martin could find veins and we named the types based on their strength. Lyric down to Basso Profundo. Mezzo was the most common. But Martin would locate the veins and we would just concentrate our work somewhere else. We would bring up just enough to make them keep us alive and feed us." (McQueen was struck by the combination in Kylen of the romantic and pragmatic.)

"So I guess the fairytale is that Martin had a hard life, but he was given this hidden talent, which was probably meant to torment him. But his gift gave us something beautiful in the middle of despair. It allowed us to trick our captors into keeping us alive but only half serve their purpose. Kept us alive long enough to be saved. And now Howard promised me that Martin will be well looked after." Kylen paused. "Do you think he really means that?"

"Kylen, anyone who can sing the stone, as you say, will be extremely well looked after," he stressed.

The story was over. McQueen rather marveled at the unexpected magic Kylen had created in the telling of the tale. _"So, that is a fairytale."_ They shyly smiled at each other. Real life intruded on the bubble they had created as they heard the nurse and doctor enter the anteroom. Their time together was short. 

McQueen knew that at this point he should say something to Kylen. He should thank her for staying, for he really was glad that she had offered. It was what had tipped the scales. He should thank her for her story. _"Like the Arabian Nights."_ He should make his good-byes, which he knew that civilians did on such occasions. Something that generally went unspoken in the Corps where everyone expected to be separated sooner or later. He had very very little practice at good-byes and went out of his way to avoid them at all cost. Most of all he felt like he should say.... felt like he wanted to say .... like she expected him to say .... To say something somehow meaningful. He was fresh out. 

Kylen, meanwhile, was fighting the desire to hug and kiss him, which she knew he would find bizarre and distasteful. McQueen made her feel strong, and she found that she wanted to please him, but taking his hand seemed like an impossible intimacy. 

"You'll be with your family in a few hours," he offered, saying anything to break the silence that he usually enjoyed. _"Her eyes 'shine with the glimmer of good-byes,'"_ he thought of the quote, but did not say it. McQueen thought her chances of knowing a poet from World War One were slim indeed. Besides, now was not the time to play the game.

"I guess that they are already having meetings on how to deal with us once we get home," she said a little sarcastically. Her sarcasm actually made him more comfortable.

"That's a good thing." He said in all seriousness.

Kylen made one of her dizzying shifts. She reached across the overbed table, gently placing one hand on his arm. She leaned her face close to his, her eyes burned into his demanding an answer.

"What do I do with myself now? How do I make any sense of any of this?" She was clearly frightened but in control.

"You survived. Never let them crawl back into your head and steal your victory. Always remember that you are free. You can say 'NO' again. Hang on to your family. Let them love you. They won't have the answers but let them do what they can. Rest for a while - then find something that you believe in. Do something useful; something you feel is important. Something you believe in," he repeated softly. It was, for him, a long speech.

The Doctor returned with a syringe. McQueen nodded. The Doc pushed the anesthetic. 

As his vision blurred, before he drifted off, McQueen saw Kylen's face. She was again determined. He remembered that he hadn't said good-bye. He heard her say 'Thank you,' and he thought she said something about Door Number One but he already too far under to ask.

When it was clear that he was asleep Kylen leaned over and kissed his cheek. She then took his hand and held it for several minutes until the nurse pulled down a jumpseat from the bulkhead and strapped Kylen in for reentry.

The Asjiki landed at Andrews AFB at 0730 ZULU (0230 EST). This meant that all the transfers and arranged transport could take place under the cover at darkness. There was no band, no flag waving, no speeches and thankfully, no press. Howard took her to the chopper which would, if not take her home, at least take her to her family.

But Kylen was able to keep her promise - she had stayed at McQueen's side until his chopper had lifted off. 

End Chapter Eleven

Literary Giants M.Wheels


	12. Goethe

Chapter Twelve - Goethe 

The choppers landed at the White Sulphur Springs Airport - still in darkness. The Military staff handed out camouflage jackets against the Halloween cold of West Virginia. They then directed the survivors - by name - to one of over a dozen waiting transports. Again, the form of four POWs to one Keeper was followed, plus there were now two additional people waiting inside the transports. One was a military type, and there was a member of the Greenbrier staff inside who greeted them by name as they entered the vehicle, welcoming them to the hospitality of the House. Someone had done their homework. It was impressive. The government may have commandeered part of the Greenbrier, but someone was also lying on the big bucks.

The vehicles moved out, and the new military officer stood. She spoke firmly, but with a touch of humor. "Welcome Home Tellus and Vesta! Hello, I'm Dr. Margie Feller. I have been assigned as your counselor. Let me first outline 'The Plan'. You will be here at the Greenbrier for four to five days to start. During these five days you will be scheduled for meetings with yours truly. We'll get to know each other really well. There will also be group sessions. You and your families will also have private sessions with me and group sessions with a family counselor, who has, in most cases, already had a preliminary meeting with members of your family. You will also continue your debriefings, and there will be meetings to bring you up to date with the events of the war and life here on Earth. We are at war and things have changed since you've been gone. This will, I'm sorry, take up about five to six hours of your day. But the rest of the time you are welcome to enjoy the Resort. This gentleman is Mr. Whitmore from the Greenbrier. He will get you set up with any activities and services. After four, maybe five days, and depending on our findings you will be free to go home. After that, you will continue our sessions on videophone, and you will be welcome to come back to the Greenbrier if there are too many rough spots, get you buffed and polished so's to speak." 

"OK, This can all be pretty overwhelming. We want to keep this small and quite so we notified one member of all of your families that you are here. We asked that only one person meet you in the lobby. You and your families are going to be staying in the 'West Virginia Wing', which is the Clinic. Those of you with larger families will be in private cabins. We have placed a map of where everyone is quartered in your room so you can find everyone. It's now about 0400. The main dining room will open for breakfast at 0600. There will be a group meeting at 1000." 

The transport pulled up in front of a small two story white house. Mr. Whitmore escorted Kylen off of the bus. "Let me be the first, Miss Celina, to welcome you back home." He opened a compartment and handed Kylen a small suitcase. 

"Compliments of the Greenbrier. Just a few things that we thought you would need. God bless you." He then handed her a key card for the cottage. At that moment, the door opened and Kylen could make out the figure of her father in the doorway. 

"Daddy," she whispered, dropped the bag and ran into her father's arms. 

Father and daughter held each other, rocking silently back and forth in the moonlight. For both, time stopped briefly as they drank in the smell and the warmth of each other. For a few seconds they could hear the music of the spheres echoing in their ears and throughout their bodies. It moved back and forth between them confirming their connections. Father and daughter. Prayers were answered and everything seemed possible.

Frank Celina was fifty-five and graying - thicker around the middle than he wanted to be, but not fat. He was still strong and sure enough to sweep his daughter up and carry her up the stairs. "They are all still asleep," he said. "I wanted you all to myself for awhile."

"I love you, Daddy." Kylen hadn't called her father 'Daddy' since she went to college. Frank caught the term and it both broke his heart and made him feel incredibly proud. He felt like a giant striding the earth. Real life would be back in a few hours, but for now he had his child all to himself. Like she was a newborn again and just his.

********************************************************************

To: Dsteinbeck@MyElCl.net

From: Frank Celina @ univmass.web

Subject: Visitations

Dr. Steinbeck, Major Howard USMC, gave me your address. (Please feel free to contact him for any confirmation you desire). My daughter, Kylen, is a Tellus survivor. During her transport home she became acquainted with Lt. Col. McQueen. He obviously made an impression. Kylen greatly admires the Colonel, and has confided that she feels a connection with him on several different levels, not the least of which is that The Colonel was also a POW. Her fiancé, Nathan West, is a member of the Colonel's squadron.

We are just home from the Greenbrier. The whole intervention was pretty well done in my mind. There have been a few rough spots and surprises, but, all in all, things are going a bit better than expected ... But I feel that I can be doing more for my daughter. I see a darkness behind my child's eyes - a place that neither her siblings nor I can quite reach. I realize that we may never be able to follow her into those places, but when she speaks of Nathan and of Col. McQueen I can see the darkness lift slightly, and I can sense a calmness in her spirit. 

It is a painful moment in a father's life when he comes to realize that someone else can give his child a sense of wholeness and security that he can not - though Kylen would never say such a thing. I know that I have supremacy of place, but I don't think that I have all the things that she needs at this moment. There are times when you have to step aside.

Kylen, like all of our children - I'm proud to say - has always had an extremely strong sense of self. But today when I was trying to encourage her ... telling her that she knew who she was - that she knew herself ... She quoted Goethe: "Know thyself? If I knew myself, I'd run away." This was like ice in my soul.

My daughter's all around health and well being is of utmost importance. And I can sometimes see her straining for a sense of "normalcy" within the family. I believe that the one place in life where you shouldn't feel strain is in your own family. As painful as it is for us to allow her to leave, I was wondering if you think it would be acceptable for her to start to visit Colonel McQueen. Is he ready for or desirous of visitors? 

I'd like to invite him here to the farm. I'm afraid, however, given what Kylen has told me, that this may not provide the most salubrious atmosphere for him. Even if he is a Marine. Three teenagers plus the rest of the 'circus' trouping through without notice. We are a lively bunch and can, I'm afraid, be overwhelming.

I know that she worries about the Colonel and would love to see him. I think that we could bear to have her leave for two or three days at a time. I think that these short breaks would also be good for the rest of my children as well - allow them to decompress as it were. The older children and I have a better understanding of what the counselors told us to expect, but the teenagers still seem a bit confused. I would like to use Kylen's time away to have some additional sessions with them. I can only imagine the difficulties of survivor families who don't have a foundation as strong as ours.

Thank you for your consideration, Frank Celina

I can be reached at home or at my office at the University of Mass. Department of Agriculture.

**********************************************************************

To: DSteinbeck@MyElCl.net

From: BTHoward@USMC.web

Subject: Kylen Celina

Do it! Do it - even if McQueen doesn't seem enthusiastic. Hell, do it even if he bitches. I don't know why, but these two reach each other. One would hardly expect it given their life histories and personalities. But there you have it. If anyone can connect with McQueen in a positive manner - I'd bet on this kid. Watching them is like watching clouds swirl around each other. Like trying to put lightening in a bottle.

You will find her a delight, by the way. I know you. Troubled - it is true. All her limbs are intact but The Clinic, I'm sure, could provide a healing atmosphere for her as well. Hey ... How many attractive young women do you know who are willing to colonize space, survive a crash and prison, work in the mines and who can quote Goethe?

"Who strives for the utmost, him can we save." McQueen and Kylen are survivors and strivers, but I think they are both exhausted at the moment. You can give them each a hand, Dale. Besides, I know how you love to dabble in and help shape other peoples lives ... And I say that only with affection and thanks. 

Your servant (LOL), 

Barton Howard

P.S. I had to look up the quote, but it is Goethe - My little tribute to Kylen Celina

**********************************************************************

DEER ISLE, MAINE

Dr. Dale Steinbeck found the brooding McQueen in the solarium. 

"Ty, do you know someone by the name of Kylen Celina?"

McQueen did not move. He felt fear stab into his guts. Everything had gone so badly in his life lately. _"What now? Oh God. Is she all right?"._ He remained looking out the window. He couldn't bring himself to look at Steinbeck. _"This would be too much."_

Steinbeck misread McQueen's reaction totally, thinking that he was being ignored. Dale was almost at the end of his limit with The Colonel. He had always been able to break though the wall or at least make cracks in the depression of his patients. He had always been able to help steer them through. McQueen was a world onto himself. A Chinese puzzle box. Steinbeck had briefly hoped that Amy would be help - even if only as a source of external irritation and friction. But that road seemed closed as well. The former married couple danced around each other with determined professionalism.

A patient's support system, family and friends, was key in the rehabilitation process. It was part of the whole program. While there had been a flurry of official Marine type communications about T.C. McQueen, there had not been a single personal inquiry and McQueen had made no attempts to contact anyone. Ty's room looked as if no patient was in residence. Totally empty. No personal items on display. There had been nothing until this dignified, but heart felt request from Frank Celina. Dr. Steinbeck wasn't about to let this possibility die on the vine. 

"Answer me, Ty." Dale Steinbeck's voice was kind and gentle, but the command was unmistakable. McQueen, face like marble, finally turned to look up at the doctor.

Dale went on, impatiently: "She wants to visit. It seems that she is worried about you. Can she come?" 

McQueen was relieved. Incredibly relieved. He felt tears at the back of his eyes. He was disgusted with his emotional reaction, but chalked it up to his distracted state of mind. He picked up a book he had been reading and plucked a dog-eared little note from between the pages. He considered for a split second and then handed it wordlessly to Steinbeck - not even sure why he did so. The writing was shaky - like someone trying to write while riding in a car.

"Still falls the Rain-

Dark as the world of man, black as our loss -"

You said to me - "We have to talk." And we haven't and I think we should. - I want you to know that I saw part of you inside of Nathan's eyes - a strength and purpose - a way of being That was new and splendid. This means that you have incredible worth and value to him and therefore to me. I will keep the sacrifice of the 58th in my heart. I owe them my life but I'll also keep it there for you as well. 

No matter how damaged at this moment --- I know that you must have a core of the most precious metal ever created by the Hand of God. 

This is a season we must live through - but not our lives forever. Believe - as I try to.

With Affection,

Kylen Celina

Ridge Farm, South Barre, Mass. (We are in the book)

__

"Dame Edith Sitwell. Black as our loss." thought Steinbeck. "And you haven't called her?" It was obvious. McQueen did not answer. 

"She has a family, Doctor." _"I had wanted to be rid of her but she wouldn't be shaken. She was a tiny pillar a fire. She was there for me - a sliver of light that wouldn't let go. But she has her own family. She no longer needs me. She has a life full of warmth and promise. No. No, it is well past time to end this exercise. It's time to drive on."_ McQueen was not aware of any irony in the fact that he had kept her note and had reread it to the point of memorization.

"That is true, she does have a family. They love her greatly. But, Ty, her family thinks that she needs you. Read this." He handed him Frank Celina's e-mail. Steinbeck waited until McQueen had finished reading the message. "And equally important, I think you need her - at least as much. Well, since you won't be moved, I will. I'm calling her. Do you have a message for her? I'll send it."

McQueen thought that, yes indeed he had a message for Kylen. _"Get the fuck out of Dodge, Kid. Leave us all behind you. Send your family e-mails from the mountain or the seashore. Screw Aerotech and The Spooks. Send Howard postcards from the edge. Write your fairytales if you have to, but leave us all in the dust. Afterburners, Kylen. Get away from all of us: AIs, Chigs, and West, me - all of us."_ He sighed heavily for he knew that advice would be useless. _"Not a chance. I can see her now, the damaged one, making sure her family is all ok. That they are coping. That she isn't upsetting their little apple cart. Serving the canapés and smiling. Making sure that Howard has all the information he can cut out of her soul. Being a very good girl. Hopeless."_

"Yes.... Just... Just ask her how Life and Freedom are earned," he said.

End Chapter Twelve

Literary Giants M.Wheels


	13. Eliot

Chapter Thirteen - T.S. Eliot

Kylen stood, half-hidden behind the potted plants, watching McQueen through the glass wall of the gym. He was taller than she had thought. Tennis shoes, T-shirt, gym shorts. He was sweating and ragged, and to her, he looked wonderful. Dr. Dale Steinbeck stood behind her explaining the activity and the plan for Colonel McQueen's rehabilitation. 

The therapist, a woman, tall, cool, patrician assisted McQueen into his wheelchair. She looked familiar, but Kylen couldn't think of how or where she had met the woman. "A wheelchair?" she asked Steinbeck.

"About half the time. A little more, maybe. After his workouts and at the end of the day. It will be a while yet. Maybe next week. His balance isn't one hundred percent yet, and he pushes himself. They're done for this afternoon. Let's go say hi to your buddy." Steinbeck punched a plate on the wall and the doors swung wide. He escorted Kylen into the gym.

McQueen reflexively turned to see who had entered. His heart momentarily skipped a beat. He did not like getting caught and he was definitely caught. 

McQueen had, for years, schooled himself not to expect things. To not expect things from people. Better to be occasionally surprised, rather than more usually disappointed. McQueen tried to close people out of his mind. And he was generally very good at doing it. Dale had said that he was going to call Kylen. She would call or write ... or she wouldn't. McQueen had closed her out of his mind. It was best to keep things simple. Kylen had come and he wasn't prepared for how it made him feel. Warm with butterflies in his stomach. She looked wonderful to him. _"Kylen, my bad penny. My storyteller. Little pillar of fire. God, it is good to see her."_

"'Conquer them each day anew,' Colonel McQueen," she boldly spoke, completing the quote he had given her through Steinbeck. _"Oh, you are a clever man." _Kylen fought the desire to throw her arms around him and held out her hand as she crossed to him. McQueen shook her hand. He was seized with the desire to pull her into a hug, but again, as a reflex, he suddenly stiffened his arm keeping her at arm's length. His action drove Kylen's arm back into her side. He saw disappointment flash through her face only to be immediately replaced by a smile. McQueen felt uncomfortable - that he had somehow let her down. 

"I stink," he said to cover the abruptness of his action. 

It satisfied Kylen, who had actually been surprised when she felt the split second of his small tug. But she had felt it and to her it was the equivalent of a kiss from the reserved man. 

"Colonel, I grew up with six men in the household and over a hundred head of cattle." She inhaled theatrically. "You smell like home, Sir," she teased. It had always been Kylen's way of life to confront the unpleasant. She would never be a woman to ignore the elephant in the living room. "Let me see this Volkswagen attached to your handsome leg."

Dr. Dale Steinbeck was rightfully proud of his research, his clinic and accomplishments. But the man had a fine sense of humor as well. "Volkswagen????" Steinbeck said in mock indignation. "Child, that leg is a Porsche."

"I would hope not, Doctor. A classic ride to be sure. One of the best, but parts are expensive and hard to find. High maintenance. Hard to find a good mechanic. Colonel McQueen is a busy man. He doesn't have time to stop and give that puppy a tune up every thousand miles." Kylen continued the game.

Steinbeck leaned in to examine the leg in mock seriousness. "And a VW is more dependable and lighter weight," he said with fake consideration.

"Better in the snow." Kylen added. "No, The man is a Porsche, sleek and fast," she said with pride in her Colonel. "But the leg should be a VW." The two started to chuckle.

"A hit, a very palpable hit," Steinbeck admitted.

Kylen and McQueen looked at each other in wonderment. Steinbeck had unknowingly fed into their code. 

"Hamlet," they whispered together.

"Spoken by Leartes, I believe," added Steinbeck.

"No, it's Osric. Leartes' line is: 'A touch, a touch, I do confess,'" spoke Kylen.

Steinbeck looked at McQueen. "Is she right?"

"I wouldn't bet against her, Dale." McQueen was enjoying the fact that Kylen was correct. Or he thought she was. He really wasn't sure himself.

Dale Steinbeck was delighted. He rarely had the opportunity for this type of sparing. He countered:

"O O O O That Shakespehearian rag." 

Kylen and McQueen picked up the line and finished it with him. "It's so elegant - so intelligent." 

Steinbeck stopped and beamed at the two, but Kylen continued the poem solo.

"What shall I do now?" she said softly.

"What shall I do? McQueen whispered, finishing the line.

It was a chilling question and the answers would affect them both. The two looked at each other and knew that the bond they had formed on the journey remained intact.

"No, I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be." McQueen spoke softly shutting out Steinbeck and speaking only to his own "bad penny." She did not let him down. She caught both his humor and truth.

"Sometimes, however, to be a 'ruined man' is itself a vocation," she countered. Now, McQueen caught both her truth and humor and, perhaps, a cautionary note. He wasn't sure. 

"Good old T.S." he said. They both shyly smiled. McQueen realized at that moment how just how different she was from his 'Kids.' They saw the commanding officer. She looked at him - at the person.

"Do we dare disturb the universe?" she asked.

This last made McQueen smile. _"An unknowing trigger of The War? Well, Kylen, I guess that you have disturbed the universe. I just try and clean up the mess."_ "Good old T.S.," he again affirmed.

Steinbeck realized that the encounter had switched and that he was no longer included. He decided to take his leave when Amy appeared at his side. "Amy Langston this is Kylen Celina, the Colonel's friend. She will be visiting us regularly, I hope. I'd like for her to be involved with the rehab."

Amy shook Kylen's hand rather coolly. "Pleasure to meet you Kylen." Amy then turned to McQueen. "Get some rest. Tomorrow is going to be a workout. Aerobic training."

Steinbeck took Amy by the arm and left the room, which was now empty but for Kylen and McQueen. Kylen had been racking her memory as to where she knew Amy. It suddenly hit her - _"McQueen's wedding picture."_

"Of all the gin joints in all the world, she had to walk into mine." Kylen gave a fair imitation of Humphrey Bogart - for a young woman.

McQueen broke into a small smile. _"What a perspective."_

"Lucy, Lucy." Kylen went into a pretty bad Desi Arnaz. "Lucy, 'jew got some 'splain'in' to do."

"Steinbeck is her cousin," McQueen explained.

"AND?" Kylen demanded.

"And nothing," he replied gently, but firmly.

"God, how people must have hated you. Not just you, because you are an InVitro," she quickly interjected. "But both of you. So self possessed. So incredibly good looking. Accomplished. It must have hurt to look at you. Fire and Ice. Never say never, McQueen. A friend of mine told me that a few days ago." _"My God, was it only a few days ago?" _She touched the back of his hand with one finger.

McQueen looked into her eyes. "So, how are your dreams?"

Kylen snatched her hand away. _"It's useless to try and hide anything from him. He walked these halls way before I did." _She gave a rueful smile. "They've been better. And yours?"

McQueen gave a snort and looked away.

"I understand congratulations are in order. Rumor has it that you are now a Big Bird," Kylen quipped

"What?" McQueen was incredulous.

"That you were promoted to Big Bird," she answered.

McQueen rather angrily searched her face for signs of insubordination and decided that she really was trying to congratulate him. Kylen had just screwed up the terms. "The term is Full Bird, Kylen, not Big Bird."

"Oh, I'm Sorry." Kylen responded. "All these new terms and ranks...I get them confused." The utter ridiculousness of calling McQueen Big Bird hit her and she giggled. "Oh boy, I really am sorry."

"Apology accepted," McQueen said shaking his head at her well-intentioned mistake. "No, the term is Full Bird," he repeated. "And you never use that term within the hearing of a Full Colonel. We don't like it. We find it disrespectful." 

"Oh, I understand," Kylen said. " When you become a Full Bird Colonel you forget everything that you said about them before you became one. Huh?" (McQueen smiled.) "And what the deal with all these different generals? I'm having trouble keeping them straight. I mean, I know the more stars the higher the rank but I can't remember which is which."

"This really matters to you doesn't it?" McQueen asked, becoming more serious. He was touched that she would bother to learn such things for West.

"Yes, I guess it does." Kylen really hadn't thought about it before. She smiled at him.

"OK, It's simple," he instructed. "Brigadier, Major, Lieutenant, and just plain General. Just remember 'Be My Little General' and that will keep it straight."

"Be My Little General?" Kylen was tickled and she laughed again. "Too good! All right, I understand. I promise I'll never call you a Full Bird again ... At least not in public," she teased. "And another thing.... Nathan's parents sent along his letters with my Dad, so, I know a lot about The Wildcards - but he never wrote what your call sign is. I know everyone else's. That's the right term isn't it? Call sign?"

McQueen nodded 'yes' and then gave her the answer: "Queen six."

"Chess? A location on the board?" she asked.

He nodded yes again. _"Close enough. It is a chess term, but it is also the Commanding Officer's designation._" But Kylen had already moved ahead before he could explain.

"Well, you are out of luck there, I play, but not well at all," she said.

They had verbally fenced and they had enjoyed the exercise. Now it was time to move on to other things and deeper realities. 

"So, 'Six,' tell me about this leg." Kylen knelt down to give the prosthetic a closer look. It was a wonder of polymerics. There were several clear sections and she could see wires and circuits. It gave her an uncomfortable feeling. Frankly, it made her skin crawl. It looked like an AI had been skinned, which was, in a sense - in fact, what it was. Several generations advanced, but AI technology nonetheless. _"God, he must hate that!"_ She sat cross legged on the floor in front of him and looked up to find him watching her. Kylen was glad that she hadn't shuddered for McQueen was searching her face for her reaction. She met his gaze with an expression an impassive as his own. _"You taught me well, McQueen,"_ she thought and racked her mind for something to say.

"What do you want me to say, McQueen? It's wonderful? It's horrifying? Whatever it may be - it is a means to an end." Kylen had a sudden thought, and could not suppress the smile it gave her. "How many people can step on their enemies with every step they take?"

Luckily, McQueen was not a man who was given to gaping for he certainly would have done so. He had challenged her reactions with his look - all but daring her to be uncomfortable and repulsed, but she had slipped around to his flank and ambushed him with a new thought. 

"It is what it is, McQueen," Kylen interjected. "It's just one more compartment - one more door. You'll find a place for it sooner or later. You have a body and you have a soul. You have to decide what you are going to do," she added with a confidence she wasn't sure that she felt, but that she wanted him to have.

"I'm an InVitro. My choices are limited." He paused and spoke almost to himself. "A body and a soul? There are people who would tell you that I don't have a soul," he said bitterly.

"Oh, please," Kylen spoke with irritation. "And like we believe that one. If people claim to believe that God created all things, then He created you as well. The IVA may have designed you, but they can not create life. They can't bring life where there is none. All of their building blocks were created by God. They are the same blocks God used to create me - to create them. Those people really piss me off. They don't want to believe that InVitros have souls, but they will use all the genetic manipulation they can to have 'perfect' children. They breed InVitros with rare or valuable blood types so that they have a ready blood supply. So what are you, by the way? O negative?" McQueen nodded yes, but Kylen wasn't ready to stop.

"Oh, yes, space exploration, dangerous or toxic work, and important blood types - we won't even get into the Freeport Offshore Organ Transplant Scandal or medical research or the military. Or the hundreds of other ways they have lined their pockets. They say you don't have souls so that they can look at themselves in the mirror. Sorry, but you did get me started. Don't feed me that tired old line. Not you. Not you. Just look in the mirror. You have a soul. And a big one at that. My God, Colonel, you are made from the same stuff as the stars. Don't put limits on God, McQueen. Just be still and wait."

This was tender ground for McQueen. It wasn't that he was agnostic. He believed that there was "something." He had seen enough in foxholes to appreciate people's beliefs, and he had never been one to ridicule others' practices. _"Hey, whatever gets you through the night." _ Simply put, McQueen believed that other people believed. Kylen seemed to. Damphousse certainly did. And Wang. No, he hadn't been joking when he had told The Cards that he would ask for forgiveness if the War ended. But McQueen did not believe that God - whoever or whatever God was - That God would concern Himself with T.C. McQueen. 

"I'm not Job any more than I'm Hamlet. I rarely practice patience. I don't just sit and wait. Not anymore. That's one thing I learned as a POW, Kylen," he said pointedly.

"Who told you that Job was patient? No, Job was not patient. He was in pain, grief stricken, frustrated and had to put up with people pouring poison into his ear. Job was able to persevere - to remained steadfast." She paused, calming herself. "God did finally answer him, you know. Answered and blessed him."

He thought for a moment then responded. "For us, there is only the trying. The rest is not our business."

Kylen did not agree with him. "_Damn, if it isn't our business, then who's the hell is it?" _ She chose, however, not to make it an issue. "Lets get you a shower and get ready for dinner. You were right the first time, McQueen. You stink."

End Chapter Thirteen

Literary Giants M.Wheels


	14. Ortega Y Gasset

Chapter Fourteen - Ortega Y Gasset

McQueen took adhesive tape and saran wrap, wrapping the connection between his thigh and the prosthetic leg. An anastamosis Dale called it. Another few days and the outer healing would be complete, but until then he still had to protect the area from water. He stepped into the shower, let the water beat down on his head and thought of his conversation with Kylen.

He had been mildly amused with the way she had come on about InVitros having souls. Mildly amused at her heat, passion and more than a little naivete - but also proud. Her absolute faith in the existence of his soul warmed his heart. Indeed, his soul. It made him feel as if he had someone he trusted at his back. A sense of confidence. A feeling that there were possibilities.

She had been grave and silent, but hadn't flinched at the sight of the leg. _"It is what it is. Then she said something about doors and compartments. This isn't the first time. What does she mean? Just ask her, you dumb Tank."_

He thought of the almost childlike glee with which she had offered her congratulations on his promotion. However late the promotion had been in coming, Kylen's joy in his accomplishment was complete. She had no way of knowing of his struggle for acceptance, his disappointments - the sting of being by-passed. Kylen's pleasure was untainted. There was no bad taste in her mouth. Her happiness for him was unalloyed. Pure. 

__

"Big Bird. Big Bird? I don't even believe it." For the first time in months T.C. McQueen threw back his head and laughed out loud. A satisfying knee-slapping laugh.

When he came out of the shower McQueen saw clothing had been left on his bed. _"The kid snuck in here while I was in the shower and I didn't hear her. Damn, I'm getting rusty."_ He could picture her tiptoeing into the room. There was the heaviest, most luxurious terry cloth robe he had ever seen. It had the Greenbrier logo on the left breast. There was also a navy blue cotton sweater with the same logo. He pulled on the sweater and finished dressing.

McQueen met Kylen in the solarium. Steinbeck had arranged for the two to have dinner there - quiet and in private. McQueen appreciated the physician's thoughtfulness. There were going to be enough stares as it was: The Old War Horse and the Cheerleader. Kylen moved rapidly to McQueen's side and took his arm much to his discomfort.

"You are still supposed to be on 'contact guard.' Don't give me that look. You thought I wouldn't ask? Please. No, you will just have to put up with having me on your arm for a bit longer." Kylen walked him to the table as if they were entering a formal dinner. Against his will, McQueen accepted the illusion completely. He remembered his manners just in time to hold out a chair for her, but she would not be fooled. She deftly maneuvered him into the seat. A little dance. She walked to the phone and called for their meal.

__

"Only she could be here for an hour and know how the place runs. Details. That's Kylen," he thought. "So, tell me about the Greenbrier. Tell me about home." McQueen had expected her to brighten and become talkative but he was mistaken.

"OK. Things are pretty good, I guess. And you?"

__

"I asked first, Kylen. No fair." McQueen decided to wait her out. He knew her well enough. She would break first. He was right.

"I feel that everyone wants something from me. My family, Aerotech, The Spooks, Howard. Everybody. I feel frayed at the edges and they are all picking at the threads."

__

"Yea, right. So you come here to pull on mine," McQueen thought and was instantly ashamed. _"She stood guard over me. She fought my battles like a wolf. So, I let her sink now?" _ McQueen was faced with an instant and uncomfortable memory of when the Wildcards had been thought dead on Sere, and Nathan had been facing the surgery that would have lost them all forever. McQueen had said to him "I'm here for you - all the way." But that had been a lie. A joke. He almost hadn't been there for West. Nathan using Kylen as his argument had made the point. _"Have faith."_

"_No, I have to be here for Kylen. Three of them may now be gone for good - but I owe the 58th to your image, Kid. I wouldn't have believed. I wouldn't have stopped the surgery. I wouldn't have gone back. Good God, and she even worries that I have something to wear and I haven't even thanked her."_

"Thank you for the clothes."

"You're welcome. Oh, wait until you get into the robe. It is magnificent. Greenbrier gave us all one." Kylen did not tell him that she had purchased his things out of the clothing allowance Aerotech had given the survivors. She guessed - quite correctly - that he would rather walk naked down the middle of the street than put on anything that Aerotech had paid for. She felt uncomfortable deceiving him, but she had wanted so badly to have something nice for him. Kylen resolved that when she got some real cash that she would purchase something for herself at an equal value. Rob Peter to pay Paul and leave John an I.O.U. "It was the darkest sweater they had," she said offhandedly.

McQueen filed that little bit of information away for further thought. "So tell me. What are they all picking at you for or about?" he asked.

"Well, my family is different - separate. It's not picking really, but it just isn't comfortable yet. We can't seem to get on the same page. But the others? I wish I knew what these others really wanted. It could make this easier. I mean, I'm not stupid, I'll figure it out, but it seems like they are wasting time playing games."

"Well, Kylen, the theory is that if they tell you what they need to know, then you will only concentrate on that. You could leave out something that could be terrifically important that they don't know anything about."

"Yes, I suppose," she said doubtfully. "General Radford said the same thing, in so many words."

"You met with Radford?"

"Yes. He asked me to 'convey his compliments' to you, by the way."

"Tell me about your meeting. Tell me what you can," he immediately corrected. With Radford a lot was likely to be classified. McQueen was chilled by this development. Radford was the highest-ranking Native American in the world, head of Marine Intelligence and a man who didn't waste his time. Radford had wanted to meet with Kylen. He must think her extremely important. This couldn't be good. _"Kylen, we talked about blending in. Why didn't you do it? Simple, she didn't blend in because you called attention to her, Fool. You sent her into Howard's hands. You pushed her off the cliff. Damn, McQueen, you fairly hung a big red sign around her neck." _ Kylen was continuing with her explanation, and once more McQueen had to catch up.

"Radford was waiting for me after lunch on the second day. He was outside standing there with the horses."

"Horses?" McQueen asked.

"He knew that I could ride. He knew a lot about me, actually. He took me out for a ride while we talked," she explained.

__

"I'll bet he took you for a ride. He is a good man, but he can be ruthless. Na'iya"eii." McQueen thought. _"Why would he play this hand now? Why so openly concentrate on Kylen? The Greenbrier has to be a hotbed of palace intrigue. Plots within plots. A nest of pit vipers. Why would Radford call attention to her? It's early in the game to sacrifice your queen. The game must be desperate - or - or what? Think McQueen. Think. Queen's gambit. Yes, let them focus on Kylen - she is obvious anyway. Let them focus on Kylen while someone else is working on Martin. Yes, the Singer of the Stone, Martin had to be the King in this game: one of many in the series."_

"I trust Radford," Kylen said, but she then qualified her statement. "More or less. He and Howard are the best of a bad business aren't they? They seem like good enough people. Like they genuinely care about us ... about me. But this whole business..... This whole business..."

"The whole business sucks, Kylen," he spat, disgusted that she couldn't be treated with more honesty.

"No shit, McQueen." She went back to her story. "I just went for the big guns with Radford. Or what I perceive is a big gun. I told him about singing the stone. Not the dancing part - but the rest of it. He is a pretty intimidating man."

__

"Oh, Kylen, you are a babe in the woods here. You should have told him about the dancing. Radford has the soul of a Warrior Poet. You could have bound him to your personal cause forever if you had told him about the dancing. He would have protected you forever. As a point of honor. Of respect. I wonder if I can somehow let him know? How in the hell can I tell him about your will and your spirit? How can I tie him to you? Should I? Might Kylen actually be safer without Radford's protection and attention? Damn, I'm too far out of the loop here! " 

"Intimidating Huh? Well, you haven't been intimidated by Howard or by me." McQueen was trying to send her a message. She didn't quite get it.

"Well, McQueen you must remember that you and I met when you were half naked and high. It sort of changes a person's perspective. It's door number one," she chuckled.

"Kylen, just what is all this 'Door and Compartment' business? You said something about doors when they knocked me out ... before reentry. Something about door number one."

Kylen paused, a bit embarrassed. She wasn't ready to share her thoughts on this matter. She had never intended to do so. But he was waiting for her to answer. _"Me and my big mouth. You have to learn to just shut up," _she thought, then she spoke. "Well, they are different sides of your personality."

McQueen remained expressionless. He didn't necessarily disagree, but it was not enough of an explanation for him. She felt forced to continue. "You can consider it a compliment," she offered. "The thought is something to the effect that a women - or rather, the feminine mind has a concentric structure, but 'The more masculine, in a spiritual sense, a man is the more his mind is disjointed into compartments.' I can see your doors opening and closing. I imagine that it is frustrating to people who want to access a compartment of your mind that is closed off. They know that it is there, but they can't get past the barriers you erect. You have a few compartments that were obvious to me........that's all."

"And whose thoughts are these?" McQueen questioned conversationally. He wasn't sure that he particularly liked the direction things were going. She had switched the entire conversation. They were now focused on him. He really didn't like the fact that Kylen had been able to do it - to switch things around on him. "An artist or philosopher, or yours?" He asked it without irony. She was certainly smart enough to come up with something like that herself.

Kylen smiled, "Ortega Y Gasset"

"Existential phenomenology," he asserted. "And you have identified my doors and compartments?" He asked evenly.

"A few," Kylen said shyly. McQueen gestured for her to continue.

"Well, I would have to say, at the moment, that this is door number two. The Commander." (He gestured again for her to move on.) "Yes, definitely," she teased mildly, "The Commander." 

McQueen had to relax a little. She was right, he was giving her a command.

"Door number one is you when you are 'under the influence' or sick, or as I so tactfully put it - 'half naked and high.' Door number four is the artist and number five is the husband or lover." The last revelation made them both blush. "Six is the survivor, the POW," she added rapidly to cover. 

McQueen recovered his momentary embarrassment, and asked before he could think. "And door number three?"

Kylen did not answer. "_I don't even know what to call door number three. He won't like it no matter what I say." _ But McQueen spared her the necessity when he realized that behind the third door was the outburst she had seen on the Asjiki. 

"Oh," he said quietly.

"You are the 'impresario of your own life,' McQueen," she said quickly. "You just have to decide how you are going to go with this. You write this chapter. You have control over how you are affected." She paused and took in a deep breath then continued softly. 

"The body is a thing, the soul is a thing; man is not a thing but a drama - his life. Man has to live with the body and soul, which have fallen him by chance. And the first thing he has to do is decide what he is going to do."

__

"And what am I going to do?" he reflected. He had never seriously contemplated a life outside of the Marines and who could tell what the Corps would do with him now? _"And you, Kylen, what are you going to do now?" _ McQueen was discomforted by the turn of the conversation and jumped back to an earlier topic. 

"How did you know that I would prefer something dark?" McQueen asked fingering his sweater. He hoped to divert her; to unsettle her. He couldn't. She was better at this than he was.

"What else? It just made sense to me." She said in the damned reasonable tone with which McQueen found it impossible to argue. Kylen had no idea how she had known. She just had. Why would someone so dynamic wear anything that would draw attention away from his personality? It made sense to her - so it was the truth.

"Where you always like this?" McQueen asked only half teasing. "_I've only known one or two natural civilians. Maybe a lot are like her. Maybe I just never met them before or maybe she is just herself."_

Kylen instantly understood the nuance of his question. "Yea, I guess that I have always been like this. Only more so. I'm not hitting on all cylinders just yet." Kylen looked at him with such an intensity that McQueen for the first time almost squirmed under her gaze.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing."

"Bullshit. What?"

"I almost asked you what you were like as a child," she admitted.

McQueen considered the source of the insulting question - certainly 

insulting to an InVitro. _"Wait. Don't jump on this. This is Kylen. Not some_

jerk. Kylen asked and she asked in private." Then a second thought 

tumbled over the first. _"She sees me as a whole person, not a symbol, _

not a commander, not as a tank. She just paid you a compliment, 

McQueen. This is interest not just curiosity. Thank you, Kylen." He didn't 

know how to respond to her.

"No, Kylen, but I was very young, once."

Kylen was suddenly filled with the desire to know all about that time in McQueen's life. But she felt she had pushed enough for now. She asked something a little more neutral instead. "Have you always been in the Military?"

McQueen was struck by the respectful way that her question had been phrased. _"Aren't we politically correct?"_ It then hit him that she wasn't being politically correct at all. No, rather Kylen was just naturally gracious. Her respect for his person and his feelings were as natural to her as breathing.

McQueen became aware that he had a cosmic joke to pull on her. One he hadn't thought of before - hadn't even realized. One she would appreciate. He looked at her with the 'almost' smile on his face. 

"I worked in the mines."

"WHAT????" Kylen shoved her chair back from the table. "What? The Hell you say? The mines?... A miner?" She raised her hands and eyes to the heavens as if thanking God and asking for patience at the same time. "And you just now ... just now remembered this salient little fact? That's one hell of an interesting little door, McQueen. God, you are an infuriating son-of-a-bitch!" Kylen then lost control and broke into loud and infectious laughter. 

McQueen couldn't help himself. He began to laugh quietly as well. "Technically, not possible, Celina." 

Steinbeck entered the solarium in time to see Kylen whip a roll at McQueen. 

"Did you ever have to use a Falcor 928?" Kylen blurted at the Colonel.

"What a piece of crap," he came back. McQueen had not talked about the mines since he had been pulled off of Omicron Draconis to toil in the InVitro platoons. But he had been a very good miner. "Now the Matlock 467, now that was a good piece of equipment."

"We, used to call it 'The Clean and Jerk,'" Kylen laughed. "But it finally broke down too. No spare parts. Then we started using 'The Bug" tools. Pretty amazing stuff. You know, we used to try and screw things up. It was hard to screw up using those Bug tools. 

Steinbeck interrupted "Umm, excuse me. We're leaving for the evening. Kylen your room is set up." The two miners nodded absently in Steinbeck's general direction. Kylen came to first. She looked at Steinbeck and gave him a brilliant smile. "Thank you, Doctor Steinbeck ... Dale."

"OK, well, I'll see you both tomorrow. Now don't you kids stay up too late. And clean up after yourselves." He said looking with amusement at the roll on the floor. Steinbeck left feeling very pleased indeed that he had called Frank Celina, that Kylen had come. He liked her.

Amy met him on the other side of the door. Dale could tell that she was not in a good mood. Not at all. They stood at the window and watched McQueen and Kylen, whose conversation was laced with hand movements - not unlike the gestures Amy had seen fighter pilots make when reliving their flights.

"Why is she here?" Amy asked.

"She came to visit 'The Solitary McQueen.' I called her in. They like each other. They're friends" Steinbeck answered.

"What are they talking about, Dale?"

"Mining, not that it's any of your business, Amy." 

"Mining?"

"Yes, Amy, mining."

"Dale, give me a break. Mining my foot. Ty never talks about the mine. He said it was awful. He would never talk about the mines. Not to me. Not anyone. He's laughing."

"Amy, She was forced labor in the mines, like Ty."

"She's too young."

"She isn't an InVitro, Amy. ..... So there we have it."

"Have what, Dale? "

The reason for your foul mood. She is young, attractive, natural born, and she makes him laugh. When did you last make him laugh? Could you ever?"

"How can you say something so unkind? So cruel?"

"No, Amy, don't you be unkind to either one of them. You are my favorite cousin, Amy, and I love you. But those two people need each other."

"She is a child, Dale," Amy almost wailed. Her life had been confused enough having to face Ty again - now this.

Dale Steinbeck realized that he had been too harsh with her. "So, tell me. Amy, are all those stories are true about InVitros and their totally uncontrollable sex drive?"

"Don't be vulgar" she said, smacking Dale's arm. His teasing tone had helped to smooth her feathers.

"OK then, Amy. So, McQueen is the type of officer to risk his career for a quick piece of ass with the wife of a subordinate. Yes, well, not technically, but she is engaged to one of his men.

"You are out of your mind. Ty would never do such a thing."

"OK? So McQueen is so weak a man that he could allow himself to be seduced by that little cutie who, as I explained, is a fiancée of a friend.

"Now, you are being ridiculous." Amy realized that she had to back up and take stock.

"No, Amy, I'm not, but you were. Kylen is a Tellus survivor. They met on the transport home. I gather that they have been helping each other through all this. Now, let's see. They have mutual friends. Both have been prisoners of war. Both have been forced labor in mines. Both are extremely intelligent. Neither one is in control of their lives at the moment. Now, why in the world would they be drawn to each other? What could they possibly have in common?"

"Oh my God," Amy murmured. "That young woman? On Tellus? Oh my God, Dale, she looks so fragile. How could she have survived?"

"Hidden depths, my dear. I think that you are going to like Kylen. She really can be quite delightful. Now, let the man spend time with someone he likes, and let the kid start to heal. Give them both time with someone that shares a common experience. He is helping to connect her with life outside of the prisons and the mines, and she connects him to his squadron. Amy, help them both out. Come with me, my sweetheart, and we will discuss this latest "project" of 'Steinbeck's Home for Lost Souls' over dinner. We are, after all, in the business of rebuilding bodies and lives. For now, Sweetie, leave it alone."

End Chapter Fourteen

Literary Giants M.Wheels


	15. Fitzgerald

Chapter Fifteen - Fitzgerald 

Steinbeck had arranged a room for Kylen in the Clinic guesthouse; a four-bedroom cottage attached to the property. It went along with the philosophy of family and friends being involved in the rehab process. Being the beginning of the week, she was the sole inhabitant. It was past one am, and Kylen was staring at the ceiling. She felt the need for sleep in every fiber of her being. She hadn't awakened. There hadn't been any nightmares. She just hadn't slept. Not at all. She was near to tears of exhaustion and frustration. There was just no sleep. She had tried for an hour to figure out the cause when she finally hit on something that made sense. She dressed quickly, grabbed her coat and left her room.

McQueen only barely heard the sound. It had only just barely been enough to wake him. Someone had opened the door to his room. It wasn't the usual nurse. The Night Nurse was much louder. When she came in during her rounds he woke and immediately went back to sleep. No, this was different. This person didn't want to be heard - and this person was good. His body had reacted before his mind.

McQueen fingered his knife under the pillow. He always slept with it. It had freaked Amy out. She tried to understand, but she had never really been able to come to terms with it. Just one of many things with which she had never been able to come to terms. He felt the knife in his grip, and tried to picture the type and direction of attack. Slowly he cracked one eyelid - just enough to look through the lashes. In the moonlight, the intruder couldn't be sure if he was watching. By practice and force of will his breathing remained unchanged.

__

"What in God's name is she doing in here? And how the hell did she get in? Security in this place is a joke. OK, Kid, play your hand." McQueen couldn't think of any real reason she would be there. _"She sure as hell isn't here to share my bed and I can't believe she would be an assassin, though she would be a good one. Who would ever suspect? I wouldn't have and I would let her close. No, ridiculous. Something isn't right. She shouldn't be here. It's not right."_

Kylen determined her Colonel to be asleep. McQueen's room, like all in the clinic, was set up as a "real" bedroom - cozy, like a home. The hospital bed was the only giveaway - that and the wheelchair. She slipped off her jacket, curled up in the large overstuffed chair, and covered herself with the jacket. Kylen listened for his breathing. Heard the rhythmic rise and fall, like the waves of the ocean. She began counting his breaths to herself and was asleep in moments. The deep sleep of the just.

McQueen watched her for a few more minutes._ "Whatever it is, she thinks it can wait until I wake up. I wish I could let the kid sleep. Too bad. All right, Teller of Bedtime Stories. Time to wake up and tell me this one." _ He whispered her name but she didn't move. He could yell of course but that would probably scare the shit out of her._ "Enough is enough."_ "Kylen, wake up!" he repeated with considerably more strength. 

She jolted upright. Ready to move. Ready to run. It took her a second to reorient herself. "I thought I could get out of here before you woke up," she said sheepishly. "I'm sorry."

"Forget getting out for the moment. We'll get to that in a minute. First, why are you here? Why would you put both of us in such a compromising position?" _"Oh, God the nurses are going to have a field day with this. Even if conjugal visits are permitted, confidentiality or not, this is just too good. Oh, Damn, Amy will be hell to live with when she gets word - Which she will as soon as she comes through the door. WHAT in the HELL were you up to Kylen?"_

"Compromising? Compromising?" Kylen sputtered. "Why would anyone..." She caught his train of thought and was filled with righteous indignation. "How dare anyone. How dare they think..." She then realized that her defense of his honor and her own could be misinterpreted - that he was not attractive or worthy. That she was a Natural and he was an InVitro. She began to fumble "Not that... Well... Not that...."

McQueen had pity on her and came to her aid. "Stand down, Celina. I knew what you meant." He shook his head as she blushed. 

Kylen had her own thoughts. "_They have all seen Amy. If they know that they were married ... Well, they would see why the idea of the two of us together is ridiculous. She is a goddess; the type of woman he should be with. The staff all have to be making book on how long before they get together again. I've really blown the odds, I bet. Oh, shit, they are all going to be pissed at me. Another failure."_

McQueen caught the change in her expression. "What is it?"

"Nothing. Everything. I feel like a failure. Like nothing is coming out right. Good Lord, I embarrass you. I put your reputation at risk and just because I can't even sleep by myself anymore. It's crazy."

"Was that it? Was that why you snuck in here? You couldn't sleep? Couldn't sleep alone?" he asked and relaxed his hold on the knife.

Kylen groaned. She had blurted out the truth and now she waited for him to blow up. "_I've torn it now - alienated the one person I felt connected to. He undoubtedly thinks I'm a fool." _ She was wrong. 

McQueen had a very clear memory of the first time he had been forced to sleep alone. All his life he had slept in barracks. Always at least five other people in the room. When the numbers of the miners had dwindled due to death, accident, and disease, the surviving men had changed bunks - always staying close together. In time, the final six men were all sleeping at one end of a barracks built to house thirty-six. McQueen used to think that the weight of the six survivors - all at one end would some night tilt the building onto its side. That the whole thing would just flip over. It was unsettling. McQueen had then been sent directly to the barracks for the InVitro platoons. Then the brig with the other prisoners. Then, finally, his first night in solitary confinement. 

The absolute silence had been terrifying. It created a vacuum inside the small cell. He felt that his brain would keep growing bigger to try and fill the vacuum - that it would rupture through his ears and eyes. It was like having the Bends. He waited for his blood to boil. He had clamped his hands over his ears to try and keep out that dreadful silence - to try and keep his brain inside. He had hyperventilated to keep the oxygen from boiling out of his blood. He wasn't able to sleep for days. He was never sure how many days it had been, but when he finally had been able to fall asleep, he had done so with his face almost pressed against the wall. Close enough so he could feel his own breath reflected back on his face. 

"It's the breathing isn't it?" he asked softly.

"Oh, yes!" she answered, the tension leaving her voice. "That's it - the breathing. I could lay down in any of the cells on Kazbek. I could tell who was in that cell by their breathing. I could tell them apart. I could tell if someone woke up by the way their breathing changed. I could tell if they were having a nightmare even if they didn't moan or cry out. But the breathing ... It's like the ocean. In any cell, in the darkness - black, like being buried alive - so totally black, but that soft sound...."

McQueen winced. He had always feared being buried alive. It happened in the mines. A false step, poor shoring, a pissed off foreman. It happened. He understood the total blackness in Kylen's story. He had known it in the mines, and he had known it in his cell. He understood it as well as he understood the oppressive silence. Sensory deprivation. An effective form of torture. You had to use your mind to survive. 

"I was almost seven years out of the tank before I ever slept by myself. I lived in barracks all my life. It was a difficult thing to sleep alone in a room for the first time. Even a very small room. It is the breathing. Without the breathing, it's just too empty."

Kylen spoke. "When I thought of escape - of coming home - I never thought that it would be difficult. I never thought that I'd have to work at it. I had hoped that I would relax and, you know, be myself again. I wasn't prepared. I had wanted to rest, to stop fighting. But this is hard stuff to do and I feel so tired. I keep going just because it's the only choice that I have. It might not be the only option but it is the only choice - for me anyway."

__

"In the real dark night of the soul it is always 3 o'clock in the morning," he thought. "How have you been making it through the night?" he asked her with genuine concern.

"Nobody knows that I can't sleep alone. I didn't know. We set things up like we did when we were all children." McQueen raised an eyebrow in question. "When we were kids my parents used to set up these sort of parties, I guess you'd call them. We called them camp outs. It started after a tree branch came down and we lost power. Mom and Dad brought down mattresses from the bedrooms and we all slept in front of the fireplace together. We made popcorn and told stories. Every now and then after that we would pull down the mattresses on a Friday or Saturday night. Sometimes we would watch a movie or Daddy would read a story - even cook hot-dogs over the fire." 

McQueen thought it sounded like a fiction - like an overly sentimental television movie. But watching Kylen tell the tale of the Celina family camp outs, he knew it to be the truth. She really had grown up it that kind of family. Kylen's stories made him see such vivid pictures. 

"Scheherazade," he whispered.

"I thought you said that you didn't know any fairy tales?" Kylen prompted softly, hoping to get more personal information out of him - to deflect the conversation away from herself. She hadn't realized that he had been referring to her and not to a story.

"No, but I know Rimsky-Korsakov." he answered. No more information was forthcoming.

"Oh, we used to listen to him, too," she said warmly. "Him and Tchaikovski. Mom really loved Russian composers." 

McQueen pictured her family curled like puppies on mattresses around the fire. Dad reading stories. Mom tucking in the kids. Classical music. _"She was not born on the same world I was. She comes from an unknown place." _

"No wonder you have confidence in life," he murmured without realizing. 

Kylen let his comment pass and spoke again. "So, when we were at The Greenbrier, in the cottage they had set up for us, we did the same thing. My brothers would drag down the mattresses every night, and we would all sleep together in front of the fire. Everyone would tell the stories of their lives. Nothing big necessarily - just what had been going on since I've been gone. They would tell me about their lives and we would talk about the war. Did you know - well, of course you know, that Nathan's brother was killed?"

To McQueen, Kylen's family was a wonder almost beyond his understanding. An abstraction. A dream. "Yes, I know all about Neil," he said. _"And I didn't know how to help Nathan through that. Didn't know how to fix the screw up that the Corps had made. I know how to fail just as well as you, Kylen. Payback is a bitch, McQueen. You say it all the time. Well, You can payback Nathan by leading Kylen through this mess. Suck it up."_

Kylen interrupted his thoughts. " No, the nights in front of the fire were pretty good, and I got good at catching catnaps during the day. But I managed to screwed that up too."

"How in the world can you screw up a catnap, Kylen?" McQueen was becoming a bit annoyed with this thread of self-pity he was beginning to see. He was a marine and any good marine caught catnaps wherever and whenever they could. McQueen could sleep standing at attention. The only way to screw up a catnap was getting caught.

"Well, I was asleep on the couch and Allston didn't see me. He is younger than I am and full of energy. He came vaulting over the back of the couch and landed on me."

"Oh shit," McQueen said, not without sympathy. "H_er family couldn't have been ready for her reaction."_ "So, how much damage did you do?"

"Got my foot in his solar plexus. A good one. He hit the wall, man. Smack! And I ran out of the room pulling over lamps and chairs behind me to block his path. Oh, God, you should have seen the looks on all their faces. Like I was nuts. Like I came from another planet."

McQueen smiled sardonically. He usually thought that she was from someplace else altogether, too. "They will get over it Kylen. But we have things to take care of here and now." He switched gears. Being caught in a bedroom with the wife or fiancée of a subordinate - Not only was his reputation, his career, potentially at risk, but Kylen's reputation was at risk as well. He had to make a preemptive strike.

"All right, Kylen, you can stay - just tonight - but we have to work the nurses. They will find out and you don't understand the potential fallout. You really don't."

Kylen's relief was visible, but she was ready for his orders. Door Number Two. "What do you want me to do?" she asked.

"How did you get in here? No, strike that. No time. Can you get out, come back and knock on the door?"

"No problem."

"Make a fuss at the door. You need to see me immediately. Think of something. Can you pull it off? Get in here and I'll take it from there."

"No problem. I can do it." _"In my sleep with one hand tied behind my back. Bad joke." _ Kylen put on her jacket and made a move to go.

McQueen gave her a final word. "OK, Celina. Do it." She left.

Within minutes, McQueen could hear muffled sounds of conversation down the hall then footsteps moving toward his room. _"Good girl. Lets go." _His night nurse opened the door with Kylen in tow. 

The nurse spoke softly: "Colonel, McQueen, excuse me for waking you, but this young woman says she needs to see you, Sir. She said that you saved her life. That she is one of the survivors, sir." It was obvious that the nurse didn't know quite what to believe.

"She is a Tellus survivor," McQueen asserted, rather surprised that Kylen would share that information with a stranger._ "Poor Kylen, she still has a lot to learn."_

Kylen looked the picture of the fragile, tear stained little girl. McQueen marveled at her skill. _"Not too much, not too little."_

"Colonel McQueen, can I speak with you? Please sir. It's the nightmares." Kylen said in a small voice. _"Oh she is very good,"_ thought McQueen.

"Nurse, please bring a blanket for Miss Celina and leave the door open." McQueen ordered and the nurse left. "It has to stay open, Kylen"

"I know, but I'm here," Kylen smiled at him. It had been fun. Hide and seek in the hay barn. Cops and robbers - cowboys and Indians. Fun for both of them. McQueen couldn't get over how participating in the simple prank had gotten his juices flowing. 

Well, am I going to have to wonder how often you're lying?" McQueen asked. "You did that pretty well."

"I never used to lie but I have gotten pretty good at it," she laughed a bit uneasily. She turned to him suddenly serious. "I don't think that I could lie to you, at least not so that you wouldn't know. You would know," she answered.

"But you told me that I don't intimidate you," he countered.

"I said that you don't but not that you couldn't," Kylen responded.

McQueen wanted to take time to consider that statement. The nurse returned with a blanket for Kylen and actually tucked it around her as she curled into the chair. When the nurse exited the room she left the door open as he had requested. McQueen changed the subject. "So, how did you get in here? The first time?"

Kylen looked at him with a rather shocked expression. "Come on, you were a POW. Don't tell me the first day they let you out of this room you didn't scope the place out. You probably can tell me two ways to get out of almost every room, space and hallway - then give me a choice of escape routes after that. You know which routes you can manage today and you have other ones on the list in your head - ones that you can manage when you are stronger. It's something that we POWs do without even thinking about it. Like scratching an itch, we look for the way out. So, tell me, just how many ways out of this building have you identified?"

"As of today? Eight. When my balance is better - probably another five or six." 

"My point, exactly," she said giving him a dazzling smile. "Good night." The two were almost immediately asleep - secure and dreamless - wrapped in the sounds of the waves of breathing - like the ocean.

McQueen awakened at what had been his customary time of 0500. He was well pleased that his internal clock was finally starting to kick in again but truth be told he had actually slept in a bit. He was usually up and dressed before reveille. The day didn't start at the Clinic for another two hours, and he was finding these empty hours frustrating and boring. 

Kylen was soundly asleep, curled up in the piece of furniture he would forever unconsciously think of as Kylen's chair._ "She is going to have one hell of a stiff neck,"_ he thought. He noted that she had drooled onto the blanket. For McQueen such things did not register on any sort of aesthetic level. He had seen men in battle wet themselves in their sleep - not from fear or injury, but rather from sheer exhaustion. Drool was nothing. He was not even aware that Kylen would have felt embarrassed. To him it was just a gauge of how deeply she had slept - a good sign, actually.

He hauled himself out of the bed, reached for his cane, then paused to calculate his next move. He hated the fact that he still had to plan out his moves - that walking to the bathroom unaided required some planning and concentration. He was subject to muscle spasms, and while his brain was getting some sensory input from the "Volkswagen" attached to his thigh, the impulses where not yet being fully or correctly interpreted. It was like his leg was always 'asleep.' It had given out on him a couple of times, and now was not the time to go crashing to the floor.

He made it to the bathroom without incident, shaved and dressed. When he emerged, Kylen still hadn't moved a muscle. He very slowly and carefully made his way down the hall to the Clinic's library. The night nurse shortly tracked him down. It was how he thought of her: 'Night Nurse.' He had never bothered to read her nametag.

With one practiced look 'Night Nurse' gauged her patients condition. She was experienced, knew her job, her boss, her patient, and understood the rehabilitation process. "_He looks no worse for the wear. But whatever it might have been - the girl was not a romantic interlude. Something had to bring him out here. Too bad. Ain't nuthin' happnin' with the whole Amy thing. Would have been nice for the man ... a young woman like that." _From the look on his face she could tell that he was not in the mood for discussions or negotiations. There was no getting him back to bed without a fight. 'Night Nurse' knew how to pick her battles, so she would let him stay but only on her terms. She gave him one word.

"Wheelchair."

"Bring one," was the Colonel's curt response.

The nurse saw McQueen settled in the solarium - in the wheelchair - with a cup of black coffee, the personal stereo he had picked up in the library, and he had asked her to pull up the morning Washington Post on the terminal. McQueen did not know it, but he and Kylen had the luck of the draw that night. 'Night Nurse' had the employee number 002. The first staff member hired. She loved her job, and patient confidentiality was a religion to her. Her note in the medical record was terse and covered none of the real events of the evening: 

0130: Pt. wanted t meet with visitor after hours. Door open per pt. request.

0500: Pt. C/O inability to sleep. Sleep aid refused

0530: Pt up in solarium - wheelchair for safety. 

She typed out a quick, secure e-mail to Dr. Steinbeck, whom she had followed from John Hopkins when he came to Maine to start the Clinic. The two worked together like fire horses in their traces and could finish each other's sentences. 

"Your idea seems to be working. Girl visited at oh-dark-thirty. McQ awake again at 0500 - (tell Amy to go easy) - BUT McQ. demonstrated first efforts of interacting with surroundings on a personal level. He visited the library and even wanted newspaper. Call me and we can review. The guesthouse isn't the place for her, by the way. Think of something." 

Meg - your Lady of the Nights.

In the meantime McQueen had briefly skimmed the paper then put on the headset to listen to a remastered century old recording of Scheherazade. A bit florid for his taste but it somehow suited the moment. He rested, waiting for the day to begin. He wanted to see Dale. _"This whole thing had been Steinbeck's great idea. Let him solve this problem."_

End Chapter Fifteen

Literary Giants M.Wheels


	16. Clancy

Chapter Sixteen - Clancy 

The energy of Amy's feelings of the day before - feelings of confusion and a bit of jealousy - had been transformed in the course of last night's discussion with her cousin. Amy found that she was developing a fiercely protective attitude towards Kylen. It seemed to her that the younger woman had been used and manipulated enough as it was. Amy had nightmares herself after hearing only part of Kylen's story. Nightmares about both Kylen and Ty.

It was true. Amy felt afraid that Ty had finally met with a problem that he couldn't match - that his incredible will might not be up to the task. And it was also true that his reaction to Kylen had been remarkable - maybe even hopeful. But it had seemed almost cruel to Amy for Dale to ask Kylen to leave her family and her own recovery to work with McQueen's rehabilitation. Again, Frank Celina's letter was the only thing that had saved Dale's skin. She was still mildly irritated with both men when she was called into Dale's office first thing in the morning to meet with him and Ty. They presented her with the problem of Kylen's late night wanderings. 

Steinbeck's solution to the problem was like all of his research: simple, elegant and intuitive. Kylen should just stay at the house with Amy and himself. Amy, to McQueen's horror, thought the 'Steinbeck Solution' was a good one. She didn't mind. It would be interesting. It might even be fun. Amy was curious to get to know Kylen.

As McQueen had anticipated there was, however, a mini-scene, but it had not been the one he had expected. Amy had, indeed, let him and Steinbeck have it with both barrels, but her target was not Kylen sneaking into the Clinic - it was the general stupidity of men. How could two allegedly grown men not have anticipated this type of problem? How could they have sent an emotionally wounded 'child' into an unfamiliar and empty house to sleep all alone? It was the absolute definition of obtuse. 

McQueen thought that is was a grave mistake to think of Kylen as a 'child'. It was a mistake that he had made more than once himself, but he had the presence of mind not to voice his opinions on that score. He was already filled with dread in anticipating the workout that Amy would put him through that day. 

It was Dale, however - Dale, who thought up the whole thing to begin with - Dale Steinbeck of the terrific ideas. It was Dale that managed, on second thought, to float a balloon of what McQueen could only loosely call sanity.

"It may perhaps be wise to run all this by Kylen. It is, after all, her life. If I were her I'd be pretty sick of everybody else taking charge."

"Thank you," McQueen spoke, his expression heavy with irony.

They had finished the discussion, and Dale opened the door to his office only to find Kylen pacing back and forth in his waiting room. She had the distinct look of a deer caught in the headlights.

"I have to go ... I think I have to leave.... I have to say good-bye," she fumbled for the words.

McQueen was about to relax - problem solved - when he wheeled himself around and caught the look on her face. _"Why do I think that this isn't good news?"_

"I called my father. They want me to go to Washington tomorrow."

"Why?" McQueen jumped on the implication. 

"I don't know. They want Martin, too, Colonel. They said I could bring family with me. Do you think it is okay to go? Can I say no to this?"

"What did I tell you, Kylen?" he asked. The two were once again oblivious to Amy and Dale.

"Watch the details, look for patterns and analyze the relationships," she recited immediately, without hesitation.

"Who is 'They?'" McQueen pressed.

"Major Howard and General Radford. It's not Aerotech. At least not openly."

"This is like a bad movie," Amy interjected as she moved to Kylen's side. "They just let her go home and now they want her to go to Washington? She is a civilian. Ty, this can't be real. They can't make her go if she doesn't want to, can they?"

"Amy, do you know the difference between fiction and reality? - Fiction has to make sense," McQueen said. "Under the heading of 'Global Security' - Let's just say they have a very broad discretionary range."_ "No matter how fond Howard professes to be of Kylen, he isn't above locking her away - locking any of the survivors away - in a mental ward if he thinks they are a security risk. Somehow Kylen understands this. Gees, look at her face." _Kylen was now gripping Amy's hand, but it was him she was looking to for comfort. For strength. For answers.

"Kylen. Think," he ordered. "What poses them the least security risk right now?"

"My cooperation."

"There you go. Take a deep breath. You have twenty-four hours before you even have to leave for D.C. Settle down. Lets have breakfast, and we'll talk before you leave for home."

"Look, I'll give you guys my office," Steinbeck finally spoke. He really didn't understand the implications of what had just passed between McQueen and Kylen, but it was obviously serious. 

Amy put a sisterly arm around Kylen's shoulders. "Lets go get you calmed down, and your hair dried. Then we'll bring some trays in here and you two can talk. Ty, you've got the morning off. We'll make up for it in the Gym after lunch." 

*****************************

Kylen and McQueen were sitting at a table in Steinbeck's office. Kylen's hair was now dry and breakfast had been served. She would be leaving before too long.

"Kylen, you have to be circumspect. It doesn't all always have to spell danger. You have to develop filters," McQueen reasoned with her. Kylen looked at him, questioning his choice of words. He continued. "You have to judge what they say. Put it all through a filter in your head."

She smirked in recognition. " My Dad talks about giving things the 'Smell Test.'"

"That's close enough. Don't give them any reason to think that you may be a loose cannon," he said.

"Dignity. Don't whine?" She smiled, relaxing. _"It all doesn't all have to spell danger does it?"_

"Close enough," McQueen repeated. "Add to that: 'don't go around half cocked' and you should do OK."

"What is strange, McQueen, or at least interesting? It's what people don't say. What they don't ask. Dad didn't say anything about the Spooks wanting to see me." 

"Maybe they have conceded you."

"You make me sound like a chess piece."

McQueen did not open his mouth. He didn't want to have to tell her that she probably was just a piece in the game. _"Right now she has value but just as quickly they would be willing sacrifice her. It is a very big game and the stakes are incredibly high. InVitros were expendable. Marines are each part of a greater whole. This was not Kylen's view. A cog in the machine? It wasn't what she expected from life."_

McQueen gave voice to thoughts he only partially believed. "You said they wanted to see Martin. Maybe they want you there to give him support." _"Or as a Judas goat. It's equally likely. God, why am I trying to deal with this mess?"_

He spoke again. "Kylen get this done and then leave them behind. Don't waste your time on things that you can't control. Go home. Go someplace - any place - where you can start to rebuild your dreams."

"You know, Colonel, when Nathan and I were separated, I was the one who said it. 'Maybe we have to find a different dream.'" Kylen paused. "They helped to keep me alive - My dreams. Not my sleeping dreams but the dreams of my spirit. My dreams of life beyond the mines. I know that they helped keep me sane. 'Nothing is a real as a dream,'" she said to herself.

"Well, Kylen. Don't let them disturb your dreams, whether you are asleep or awake." He realized that she had turned from her private thought and was now looking at him with an expression of mild disgust. 

"I didn't say that it was easy, Kylen. I said it was what I thought you should try to do." 

"Form not function - or - function not form?" she questioned. "Believe it or not, I think I get it. The same dream only different." 

"Close enough." McQueen said to himself. 

"How do you do it? Keep going. What is your dream? What do you live for, Six?" 

McQueen felt a shiver run down his spine. Kylen used the diminutive she had culled from his call sign. For reasons not understood by the man himself, McQueen had accepted the term. It only dimly registered in his mind and it was, after all, better than Big Bird. But it wasn't the use of the nickname that had chilled McQueen - it was her questions.

McQueen attempted to read her expression. It was absolutely open and without guile. As challenging as the question may have been, Kylen wasn't issuing a challenge. She was just asking a question. An important question. But asked with an ease and grace, which told McQueen that she had grown up in a home where such questions were discussed over meals. A home in which people's dreams were to be shared and enjoyed. People in Kylen's life had spent time and energy on each other's dreams. Kylen had gone to the stars and her family had taken the ride. 

McQueen appreciated the irony. The Staff Sergeant - the Heavy Hat in Basic way back when - had asked McQueen and McQueen, in turn, had asked Hawkes: "What would you die for?" _"I could have answered that in a heartbeat." _ He had a list. He knew with absolute clarity what he would die for. But that isn't what Kylen had asked. 

Amy had asked him what his ambitions were - had asked too many times what he intended to do with his life. And in fairness, she had helped a great deal in the attainment of his educational goals. But they had been goals. And Kylen hadn't asked about goals. 

"Something better." It was the only thing that McQueen could think of to say at that moment. The answer was a cop out, and they both knew it.

Kylen poured him more coffee. She didn't quite understand his discomfort. Kylen wasn't sorry that she had asked the question, but she was a little surprised at his reluctance to answer. She knew when to let sleeping dogs lie. In any case, it was time to hit the road.

End Chapter Sixteen

Literary Giants M.Wheels


	17. Nietzsche

Chapter Seventeen, part 1 - Nietzsche

The physical therapy pool at The Clinic was known to more than one patient as 'Waterloo.' McQueen thought it apt. It had sounded so easy. Just walk the width of the pool - back and forth for twenty minutes. Boring but no problem. He soon found out that walking in water up to his armpits, using a prosthetic which he still had trouble feeling, was far more trouble than anticipated. McQueen pushed his limits. It was his pattern. If twenty minutes was good that a half-hour would be better. Or so he had reasoned. He could feel the strain not only in his legs and 'glutes', but his abs had started to burn. And he had five more minutes to go to make the self-imposed bravado thirty minutes.

McQueen reached the side, turned, and made again to cross back - a distance that seemed to lengthen with every trip. Each crossing was taking longer, and he realized that he had been way off in establishing his pace. Next time he would listen to the staff instead of plunging ahead at his own speed. He lost his footing and dunked himself for the forth time. Humiliating - like being in Basic Training again.

"You okay, Colonel?" the P.T. assistant called from the side.

"Yeah," McQueen growled.

When he had made it a bit more than halfway across, he heard a voice from behind him at the side of the pool. "All the little fishies in the deep blue sea," Kylen chuckled.

McQueen turned, again lost footing, and went under. Amy and Dale hadn't told him she was coming. When he came up she was kneeling at the edge of the pool.

"Hello Colonel."

McQueen was pleasantly surprised at her appearance. Beethoven's 3rd, The Eroica, was his favorite piece of music and at that moment Kylen looked to him like the Scherzo. Maybe a bit tired, true, but she was glowing, full of energy - ebullient. He had no idea of what had put her in the mood but he felt he could add to it. He couldn't hold back. He didn't even say hello. 

"Kylen, they found Vansen and Damphousse - alive."

"No ... You're serious? That's wonderful." Kylen instantly flattened herself on the deck of the pool, grabbing the edge with both of her hands and leaning her face out over the water. "Tell me. Tell me. Tell me."

"Found 'em on planet. Pretty banged up. Nasty place. Damphousse is still in pretty rough shape. Captain Vansen is in better condition." He had been crossing over to her as he spoke. It was hard work and he was getting winded. When he was within arms reach. Kylen's hand shot out. He read her intent, and they gave each other a high five. Kylen 'whooped' - the sound of her joy bounced off of the walls and ceiling of the indoor pool. She looked into his face for a word about Paul Wang. He gave no indication so she didn't ask, not wanting to quell his joy. _"We can talk more later," _she thought. 

"Things must have gone OK in D.C., I take it?" He said.

"Not everything spells danger. Come on out of there. I have some things to tell you as well." She turned her head to the attendant: "Amy said that it was okay for me to get him out." She then turned back to McQueen. "Wring him out were her exact words," she grinned.

The attendant nodded in agreement, and McQueen hoisted himself out to sit on the edge of the pool, his feet in the water. Kylen stood, took off her hat and coat, grabbed McQueen's robe and returned to sit by him, handing him the robe. 

"Tell me." McQueen said, hoping to distract her from the fact that his legs were trembling. He had pushed way too hard. He drew the robe around himself.

"I saw the most impressive thing, McQueen," she teased. "You knew I was going to Washington and you didn't tell me. How could you not have told me about it? General Radford took me to the Evening Parade."

"At the Marine Barracks? Eighth and 'I'?" McQueen asked and gave her a small smile. _"She must have loved it. Of course, she would have loved it."_

"The band, those red coats. But the drill team. How could you not tell me about the Silent Drill Team? Colonel, they are thrilling. I saw them." Her reaction to Marine Corps Evening Parade was not at all unusual. It was, in fact, typical. McQueen could still remember his own reaction the one time he had seen it. 

"Do you know what the General told me? He told me that they are thinking of discontinuing it. Because of the War. McQueen, Evening Parade has been going on for over one hundred years. It isn't right. They have to continue it."

"So, did you register your complaint with the proper authorities?" McQueen was amused by her worry and indignation. 

Kylen took his question seriously. "Well, I wouldn't call it a complaint, exactly, but I did mention it when General Radford introduced me to the Commandant."

"You met the Commandant?" "_Shit, Kylen they pulled out all the stops for you. It's called a seduction scene, Kid. Or a horse auction. Tell me, did they open your mouth and check your teeth? Be very careful Kylen. Why in the Hell would they give you such a reception? This goes beyond people being able to hum at rocks."_

"Yes, and a General Wierek. I told them that it seemed counterproductive to stop Evening Parade. I told them that it was like the ravens at the Tower of London." 

"Explain," McQueen demanded, turning to look at her.

"There are ravens at the Tower of London. They raise them, and they even give them military rank - like the Marine Corps BullDog. The legend is that as long as there are ravens in the Tower, that England will stand against her enemies. As long as there are ravens there will be an England. It just seemed to me that as long as there is Evening Parade there will be a Marine Corps and as long as there is a Marine Corps - we will have a country. I guess now, looking back, it seems like a terribly romantic and naive thing to say, but it's how I felt at the time."

"Do you know what James Forrestal, the Sec Nav during World War ll, said when the Marines raised the flag on Iwo Jima?" McQueen asked rhetorically, not waiting for an answer. "That those Marines had ensured that the Marine Corps would last for another five hundred years. Who knows? You may have bought the Silent Drill another fifty." McQueen now found that he was shaken by her news. It would be a shame, but civilians didn't yet seem to understand the enormity of what had to be accomplished - the enormity of the sacrifices that would be required - to stand a chance of winning the war. But the Marine Corps loved tradition. The Corps WAS tradition. To disband that ceremony - things had to be pretty bad. And he was in Maine, wading around in a swimming pool, walking on treadmills and practicing going up and down stairs. Something was very wrong with this picture.

"You told Radford about the ravens?" he asked her. She nodded yes. _"Kylen, your stories and fairy tales. Amazing." _ "I don't know what, exactly, the Raven means to the Navajo Nation, but I do know that it is a significant symbol in most Native American cultures. Often the symbol of creation or rebirth," he explained. _"You know, don't you, Kylen, that you bound him to you at that moment? No, you don't, do you? But that is what you managed to do."_

"Really?" She smiled, awed by the realization she had received.

McQueen could see that she was beginning to put things together. _"Good girl. This is a war. Learn how to use any weapon you can. Information is power."_

"I have more news," Kylen continued. She was bubbling. "And I got this from Radford as well, so I'd consider it reliable. He was unable to share too many details, for obvious reasons, and I didn't press, but ... It seems that a few months ago there was a significant air engagement. That's the correct term isn't it? Engagement? - I got no details except that it involved a number of multinational squadrons - several skirmishes over as many days - and that it hadn't gone well for us. But that one Marine pilot, whose name I was never told, finally turned the tide of the battle. One pilot. Imagine that? And during this one engagement our Marine pilot - who wasn't even supposed to fly this mission - did things with an S/A 43 Hammerhead Endo/Exo Attack Jet that weren't supposed to be able to be done." 

McQueen was feeling distinctly uncomfortable with her story. 

"There are lots of stories, Kylen." He slid off the robe and back into the pool. He began to swim a lap to cool down. His muscles were beginning to tighten.

Kylen ignored his comment. To her this was wonderful stuff - the stuff of legends. "I guess he performed several outrageous moves but there was one particular maneuver. Something about a somersault over the oncoming right wing and an inverted roll. They got the info off of the flight data recorder. People are having trouble replicating that move. I rather that only one or two have pulled it off successfully - in simulators. An incredible piece of flying I was told."

McQueen cursed when he touched the side of the pool. Cursed that the damn thing wasn't longer so that he could have kept swimming away from her and her story. He turned and began to swim back. There was no other direction to go.

"They have a new name for this maneuver, Colonel. It's called a "Queen Six."

McQueen was tired and embarrassed and wanted to get away from the whole thing. He turned and made for the side of the pool opposite to Kylen. He reached the wall just as he was seized with a killer cramp to his right hamstring. He roared with frustration, pain and anger. The attendant streaked past Kylen's left shoulder, launching into a shallow dive the speed of which propelled him the width of the pool. He resurfaced at McQueen's side. Amy came out of the glass enclosed office area.

"Now, what have you learned Colonel McQueen?" she demanded as she crossed the distance to him. He just glared at her. "Tell me," she insisted.

"Twenty minutes means twenty minutes," he recited.

"Your workloads will increase but I will set the pace. We will do it on my terms. Do you read me? Do you?"

"Yes."

"Is it your hamstring? Well, flex the ankle. The prosthetic should work the same way as your real leg."

McQueen's face relaxed as he followed her instructions.

"OK," Amy ordered. "I want you out of this pool and in the whirlpool - now. Fifteen minutes. Then shower and get dressed. I want you in the gym in one hour." As McQueen was helped up the ramp Amy turned her laser like stare on Kylen, who had been shocked by the incident and was now more than a little frightened of Amy.

The scowl on Amy's face turned into a gentle smile as she put her arm around Kylen's shoulder, guiding her into the locker room, speaking in a conspiratorial manner. "I wanted you to see what you were getting into. You still want to help? He is hard work and stubborn to boot. More willpower than sense half the time. We are going to have to set two sets of limits here. One set we tell him and a second set we don't. Because he won't listen to the first restrictions we give him anyway. That second set is what we can let him attempt safely. We have to finesse him. Dishonest? Well, only partly. This little event? No serious danger. Just an object lesson. Well, the man can tread water for an hour with a full field pack. But the integration of the new leg isn't automatic. It has to be trained. He has to be trained to use it. I want to make sure that he will listen to you if I'm not here. A good dunking? Let's just call it reality orientation. Did you bring your suit? You still up for it?"

Kylen nodded 'yes.'

"Then get into your suit and meet me at the pool in 10 minutes."

Kylen came out of the locker room to meet Amy standing beside an exercise mat. Amy worked with her for a several minutes until she was satisfied that Kylen could assist Ty in regaining his feet if he fell, for he was still losing his footing on land as well as underwater. He would do all the work Kylen just had to provide some stability. 

Then Amy tested Kylen's basic skills in the pool - made her swim a couple laps. Amy put her through the basics of Ty's workout, which Kylen found exhausting. Amy finished by having Kylen 'save' her by doing a rescue swim, floating Amy to the ramp where Kylen could rest her with her head out of the water. 

The two women talked while they showered and dressed.

Do you do this for everyone, Amy?"

"To varying degrees. It depends on the person and their families and rehab partners. Most patients do not get free use of the pool. A few do. You won't let him drown." Amy paused. She wasn't being totally honest and didn't want to get started with Kylen on a note of falsehood.

"Most of our patients stay here for another month, but we are getting busy. Lots of traumas from the military. Our other patients at Ty's stage are moving into some of the bed and breakfasts in town. It's simpler to have him stay with us and you visit there."

"No one will rent to him?" Kylen asked in disbelief. It was something one heard about but never actually ever faced.

"There are one or two, who would let him in. There are good people around. Some really good people. And then there are people who want our referrals. They want our business. Summer tourism was way off this year. But mostly, I feel that I owe him this much, at least. You know, I take it, that we were married at one time."

Kylen nodded 'yes,' but added. "Colonel McQueen didn't tell me anything, but one does hear things." It wasn't a total lie. McQueen had never spoken about Amy or their relationship directly. It was obvious that Amy knew nothing about the wedding portrait and Kylen was not about to tell her.

"Well, we've been apart for a several years. No high drama now. And the truth of the matter is, Kylen, that until he gets reassigned, he has no place else to go. He lost his quarters at Loxley when he went aboard the Saratoga. Everything he owns is in storage in Alabama or someplace out in space. I ordered him a couple new uniforms and picked up a few things for him to wear." 

While Amy didn't say it, that little bit of largesse had also come under the heading of 'the least I can do.' Amy's father had disowned her when she had married McQueen. An InVitro was the last straw in their tempestuous relationship. But Amy was over the age of twenty-five at the time, and try as he might, her father could not touch Amy's rather sizable trust. McQueen had, once again, proved his detractors wrong when he had freely walked away from the marriage with nothing more than he had brought into it - even turning down Amy's offered settlement. Amy had actually felt a sense of relief at paying the bill for his 'kit.'

Amy continued, "He has few friends and they are all on active duty. I owe him and Dale likes him. And Dale finds you.... Charming, I think, is the word he used," she laughed, gently teasing Kylen. "So we set up our dysfunctional family here on the coast of Maine. Come on now. Lets go find the 'Unrepentant McQueen', and I'll sell him our plan."

They found McQueen in the Gym as ordered. Amy marched the two into her office and made them both sign a release form. She leaned against the edge of the desk. " Now, I will set up the exercise routine for the pool." She gave Kylen a meaningful glance. "And my routine will be followed." Her demeanor then changed from the professional to the personal. "The pool opens officially at 8 am. But Ty, if you are very sweet to her and if you can talk her into it, Kylen has my permission to work with you starting at 6:30."

She reached into a drawer and brought out a small ring of keys, which she handed to Kylen. "These are for Kylen. Not you," she said pointedly to McQueen. "We will review your progress daily. And I still have you in the Gym at 8 am. Kylen can help you through your routines here or at The Barn in the afternoons when she is here visiting. I'm hungry." Amy left them in her wake. McQueen snorted his disgust.

"Colonel, she really does have your best interest at heart," Kylen attempted to mollify him.

"She is too conservative, Kylen. Pain? A little pain never killed anybody. You pass out. You don't die," he spoke, knowingly with some bitterness.

"Unless, of course, you pass out in a swimming pool," Kylen reminded him gently.

"I can't sit around here forever. I'm doing nothing. If you can't live proudly, then better to die proudly," he muttered.

"And how does drowning in a swimming pool because you refuse to follow instructions constitute dying proudly?" Kylen laughed to take the sting out of her reply.

McQueen knew then that Kylen would not be swayed on this issue. He wouldn't be able to work her for points. No, she would follow Amy's directions. He was caught. Again. Ty's dealings with women outside of the military - civilian women - was limited, but Ross had told him enough stories. This was probably one of those occasions that Glen would call a 'Yes, dear' situation. There was, however, one thing he could hope for.

"Don't tell Amy that story.... Please, Kylen. Don't tell anyone."

"All right." She read the importance of the request in his face. "I promise."

***************************************************

Dale and Amy had moved Ty into their (Dale's) house two days earlier. There was no reason for him to stay at the Clinic. He could be handled as an outpatient. Besides, they needed the bed. Business was picking up. The house was an old monster of a Victorian summer home with plumbing, insulation and power updated. Wrap around porch. Circular bays on one corner that went all the way up to the roof. Widows walk on the roof and summer sleeping porches along the back.

Steinbeck had inherited it from his aunt along with considerable property. The Clinic was a pleasant bike ride down the road or a brisk hike overland. Rather than the more traditional New England white, Dale had painted it in the more historically accurate 'Painted Lady' style and he called it 'The Barn.'

For years, Dale had just occupied the first floor by himself. He then had happily taken his cousin, Amy, under his wing and the second floor had been opened, aired out and occupied. There were more than enough beds and more than enough space for four adults to live - either together or as solitary as they pleased - needing only to meet in the kitchen or dining room, which were the only rooms that didn't have some kind of redundancy in the house.

Amy and Dale moved Kylen into The Barn with a vengeance. Glasses of wine in hand as they showed her around the property. Their cats following along. Dale gave her the choice of any unoccupied room she wanted. While showing their guest her own room, Amy had taken Kylen aside and explained that her love seat could be opened into a bed - which was the only mention of the problems that Kylen had sleeping. She could sleep in Amy's room if things got rough. It was generous and kind, and Kylen found herself melting towards McQueen's former wife. 

Kylen reacted as she had been reared. She jumped in to help wherever help was needed. Dale loved to cook. Amy didn't. McQueen had never really learned. Amy had been horrified the first time she visited his digs in the BOQ at Loxley. The cupboards were filled with what she learned were MRE's. Marine freeze-dried food packets. Kylen cooked because she didn't know any other way to live - in a household full of ten people, it had to be done. While Amy and McQueen sat on the sidelines Kylen helped Dale whip up a chicken stir-fry for dinner. They all ate in the kitchen. It struck McQueen that Kylen was able to modulate the rhythms of her life in a way that he could not. In two hours Kylen had become more a part of the household than he would probably ever be. 

Dale, a skilled conversationalist and host, soon turned the conversation to Kylen's family. Frank Celina was a professor of animal husbandry at the University of Massachusetts. He had reared his family at Ridge Farm, which had been in his family for one hundred and fifty years. Frank had married a willowy blond art teacher, Karin, thirty-two years earlier. As the result of a car accident, he had been widowed now for ten years. Karin had taken the little twins to the doctor for their first grade checkups and the car had been hit by a truck that had lost its brakes. There were some problems the medicine of the middle of the 21st century still could not solve. The twins had survived but it had been touch and go for Allston. 

The farm had been, and was still a working concern as well as being an experimental station for U of Mass. Karin and Frank raised Holsteins, soy, corn, and various and sundry other animals and crops as the experiments came and went. Here they had reared their nine children. Not so much that they had wanted such a large family. They were simply extraordinarily good at it. They had reared nine healthy individuals - each of whom held a specific place within the family. Someone had once been so ill bred as to ask Frank and Karin why in the world they had nine children. Karin's remark was something to the effect: "I was young and stupid." Frank had responded. "Because we didn't want ten."

McQueen wasn't clear on just why this story created peals of laughter around the table. But it had.

Kylen ran for her bag and brought back a stack of photographs taken at The Greenbrier. The Celina Family Reunion. The pictures were passed around the table and Kylen explained who all the players were. There were pictures of the whole group. Pictures of the girls. Pictures of the boys. Pictures by the fireplace, on horseback, walking on a path, sitting around a table. The thing that struck McQueen most acutely was that in all the pictures - people were touching. Kylen was in contact with at least one family member in all of the photographs. Arms around shoulders, hugging, kissing, holding hands. There was one picture of Kylen by herself; a profile of Kylen looking out of a window, but there on her shoulder there was gently resting the hand of one of her siblings. He must have seen this before in photographs other people had shown him of their families, but he had never been so aware of the pictorial record of intimacy before. The simple joy and comfort of being in the company of those that you love.

"I sounds like a well oiled machine." Dale commented.

"It's a Chinese fire drill - that's what it is," Kylen said lightly. McQueen was not familiar with the term and could only guess at the mental image it created that caused the three to laugh again. 

Amy helped him out. "Keystone Kops, Ty, running around in circles." McQueen knew the image but was too late to join in. 

"They must be beside themselves - ecstatic to have you back." Amy said. Kylen nodded 'yes' but remained silent.

"It has to be a little hard on all of you though." Dale offered.

"It is - and in unexpected ways. I'm not in the same rhythm. I see things differently. I don't know how to ... No, I do know how to explain, but I don't know if you'd understand," Kylen said. McQueen found himself suddenly alert to the conversation.

"Well, you've had to go through so much," Dale spoke in even tones. "Things they can't quite comprehend."

"It's not what I went through. It's what all of them had to go through," Kylen continued. "It's more than just being separated for so long. Hell, I hadn't planned on coming home for years. We have been separated before. We've all gone away to camp or to study, and to go to college. But this was different. I look into their faces and I know that we still have the 'chops' - we can still function as a unit. There is nobody closer - but I'm missing an element that they have. A bond that they share that I don't. And I don't know that I'll ever be able to totally overcome that. It's a very subtle thing, but it separates me somehow. I'm afraid that I'll always be a bit of an outsider now. Not so that anyone outside the family would see or know - I don't even know if any of them sees it or even feels it, or understands it the way that I do."

"What sets you apart?" Dale asked gently. 

"My death." Kylen gave a small sardonic chuckle. 

"My death," she repeated. "They lived through what they hoped was not real, but what they were beginning to believe was my death. They grieved and bonded over it. They found new strengths and weaknesses, and they all gave and took accordingly and, you know, the ship stayed afloat. The center held. They got through it. And I wasn't a part of it, you see? I wasn't part of it. I didn't share in it, and I can't share it. They have something that doesn't belong to me - for the first time in my life I'm somehow separated." She looked around the table embarrassed at having revealed so much.

"My counselor tells me that I need to 'face my suffering' in order to get through it, but she never mentions my death." She made it a joke in an attempt to lighten the mood of emptiness she had inadvertently created.

"Horseshit," McQueen muttered.

"Kylen, I think there is some truth to that statement," offered Steinbeck who was worried that she was blowing off the counseling and the grief work he felt as vital to recovery. "There is a point to facing your demons."

"Well, of course, it's true, Dale. It's probably one of the central truths of the universe. I know it. You know it. Amy knows it. McQueen knows it better than anyone. The whole damn world knows it. But 'when you are tired you find that you are attacked by ideas you conquered long ago.'" Kylen paused to clear her own head and emotions. "It is just so damn annoying, and usually handed to you by people who have no idea what you have been through. I know because I asked them. What I got was 'The point of this is to deal with your readjustment, not mine,' she voiced in a devastating imitation of sickly sweet and impersonal concern.

"It's not something people talk about, Kylen," McQueen said. He felt better when Kylen was more in control. He wasn't comfortable when she started to go 'out there.' The two survivors shared a knowing look. McQueen had offered - if not precisely shared - his knowledge with her. It had made a difference then and it did again now. Kylen reeled herself back in at his implied warning. 

"I don't expect them to spill their guts. I don't need details," Kylen spoke as if he alone were in the room. "This isn't Truth or Dare. But just the knowledge that they have survived. Or the free admission that they really don't know what I'm talking about. I would be willing to hear that too."

"But still, Kylen, no matter how painful......" Amy wanted to say something but she had no idea of how to counsel Kylen. 

"If you gaze into the abyss long enough: The abyss will start to gaze back," McQueen said pointedly.

Kylen suddenly laughed and McQueen had to smile. Survivor's knowledge. Survivor's humor. "Nietzsche," she whispered and she gave him the second high five of the day as she passed him on the way to the sink. Dale and Amy didn't quite get the reason for the laughter. In fact, Amy was finding the turn of the conversation unsettling, but both knew it was time to excuse themselves. 

McQueen and Kylen turned to the task of cleaning the kitchen, which was actually less than five minutes worth of work. When Kylen began to wipe down the counters for a second time McQueen was forced once again to tell her to "Sit."

"_This time.... This time I'm not going to let her switch the tables. I need to know where you stand, Kylen."_

"So, Kylen, what's the story here?"

"I feel like I'm fighting every day, Colonel. I feel like I'm fighting against my father and my family - the people I want most to please. I feel like I'm somehow not being honest with them. I feel like I suck all the air out of their rooms. I want to let them know what I know. What I had to learn. Things you helped me crystallize. It would almost be easier to just keep spreading myself out. Just to keep moving further and further away. Like foam on the ocean. It sounds easier and more peaceful. Just to give in. Don't try to hold onto my sense of myself. This trying to hold on...it's a high price, McQueen. A high price."

"Kylen, No price - 'NO price is too high to pay for the privilege of owning yourself.'" He spoke softly but with a strength and conviction that almost frightened her. 

Kylen was at that moment deeply ashamed of herself. "_How dare I say these things to him? Of all people. 'The privilege of owning yourself.' My God, how does he sit there and listen to my big problems? Listening to me vent. Why doesn't he just reach up and slap the taste out of my mouth?" _ She was chastened and silent for a few minutes.

"Kylen you know who you are," McQueen encouraged.

"Not like I used to. I used to know for certain who I was. But It's more difficult now," she said with some strength. "I have known all my life. I knew when Nathan and I were separated. I knew during the crash and in the mines. All the time up until we were saved. Up until I saw Nathan again. Then, it was like the bottom fell out. I didn't have a reason to fight anymore. Now it is all so different." 

"How?" he asked quietly.

"My parents had different views on this - on how life changes people," she smiled to herself remembering late night discussions with Frank and Karin. "My father called all of us his diamonds in the rough. And he contended that life cut away what wasn't needed. That every thing we went through created a facet. And that he enjoys watching the light sparkle off of us."

"And your Mother?"

"Mom liked to see us as her pearls. That life added layers to us. She could help us through the first few layers and then we'd be sturdy enough to go out on our own as the layers thicken and are added to. Pretty different views of how we grow aren't they?" she asked, not really looking for an answer. 

McQueen didn't offer one. They were both valid points of view, he supposed. 

Kylen spoke: "In any case, I'm different. Everything is different."

But McQueen did have a question. "So what are you missing? Kylen, what do you need that you don't have?"

Kylen stood abruptly. "Let's get out of here, Six. Let's go down to the water."

McQueen stood, ready to get out of the house himself. _"But don't think, Kid, that I'm letting go of this. And don't think you are going to pull a switch either. But let's go." _ He grabbed their coats while Kylen told Dale they were off. In minutes they were parking Kylen's car at the pier which was all but deserted. There was a Nor'Easter kicking up. The moon picked out white caps way past the breaker line. The wind was freshening. Heavy weather was on the way in.

Kylen bought coffee in the pier house, lightly took his arm, and they walked to the end of the pier. McQueen was still waiting for her to answer his question. He centered himself and waited.

"You know how you have a feeling about who you are? Deep inside right about here?" She held her fist against her chest at the bottom of her sternum. "And you know how it feels just about this big too? You know what it's like to have that 'SELF' there? Always there? You just stretch your mind and you feel it?"

He didn't answer and she became silent. Silent long enough for McQueen to begin to think that she had dismissed him somehow from her mind. He decided to offer her a lure to keep her on track. " I didn't always, but I do now. I know the moment when I knew it for sure. It was a ... Defining moment."

Kylen regarded him in the yellow half-light of the pier lamps. _"Yes, he does know."_ She continued to stare at him waiting for the story.

"No, not now," he whispered to her. McQueen sipped his coffee. He wasn't about to tell her the story. At least not now, particularly after she had told him about the Queen Six maneuver this afternoon. _"Leave it alone, Kylen," _he thought.

"Someday?" She asked.

"Maybe.... Someday... maybe," he told her. 

"McQueen, there is nothing that I need that I don't have. And you make me feel thoughtless, childish and spoiled." The list went on in her mind. _"And superficial and flighty. Self absorbed. Weak. Like I'm a coward." _

"I don't think those things, Kylen." For in truth, he thought her a woman of rare personal courage and generosity. Kylen paused and then spoke again.

"It is still difficult to find a sense of who I am. It's hidden. Instead of being the size of my fist, warm and strong at the center of myself - it's like a marble. Hard, cold and I'm afraid that if something hits it too hard it will shatter. And I have to look for it, McQueen. I have to search for it every morning. Like a marble it is swirling around. It isn't an anchor anymore. It's Pandora's box. It's chaos."

McQueen instantly remembered a quotation that he had never really understood. That he had, in fact, until that moment denied as fiction. But as he watched Kylen sip her coffee - the weather moving closer to shore - he understood it and hoped that it was the truth - hoped it would be true for her. He spoke it as if it was. 

"Unless you have chaos within you: you cannot give birth to a dancing star." He could read her profile looking out over the waves. He watched her face slowly relax. The quote had resonated for her. He then turned to the waves and the wind himself. They finished their coffee in silence. 

"I would never have pegged you as an existentialist, McQueen," she said softly, smiling at him as they turned to leave. 

"You're the one who always brings them up, Kylen"

"Yes, but, McQueen, you always know who they are."

"'Live dangerously,' Kylen"

It made her laugh as they made their way to the car.

End Chapter Seventeen

Literary Giants M.Wheels


	18. Hansberry

Chapter Eighteen - Hansberry

Kylen had set her alarm, but having slept with only moderate success, she was bleary eyed when she met McQueen at the foot of the stairs. They were out the door at 0615, in the car, on the way to the Clinic and the pool.

Kylen had tried his workout and decided that if she didn't have to do it - she wouldn't. She had sat at the edge of the pool and tried to keep McQueen talking as he crossed through the water, back and forth. The point in trying to keep him talking, Amy had explained, was to judge his level of exertion. "He should be able to speak in complete sentences. If he can't - he needs rest or to slow up."

This was not an easy thing to do. When McQueen was concentrating he generally kept his answers to one word, and the work in the pool required concentration. It was far more demanding than an underwater treadmill. There was nothing to hold onto. It required balance and timing, using considerably more energy. Kylen had tried to get him to recite Shakespeare, but he had told her with only a patina of civility that he "was not going to muddy the waters by mixing business with pleasure." She finally had to admit to him the reason for the requisite conversation before he would make an effort. Kylen had been reading up on the war and asked him about The Battle of The Belt. It had been enough to finish up the session. A strict twenty minutes. He was able to make it out of the pool unaided. All in all a success. The thing that was uncommon about the morning, if anything was uncommon, was how easy it had all been. It hadn't been work for either McQueen or Kylen. They fell into a pattern with each other without thinking and without trying.

They had breakfast in the solarium. Kylen finally screwed up the courage to ask the man what had been niggling around in the back of her mind since the day before.

"So, I see you decided to go ahead with the artificial skin," she stated. 

"Huh?" McQueen had no idea where she was coming from with this.

"You let them graft the leg," she said, her tone almost, but not quite making an accusation. 

"It has a function, Kylen. It acts as insulation and there are temperature sensors," he explained. McQueen didn't know why, but her line of conversation was beginning to set off bells in his head. 

"I suppose," Kylen said dubiously. "But you let them cover it."

"I wanted them to cover it," he stressed. "Why do you care what it looks like, anyway?" She was skating close to the edge. McQueen wanted her to back off.

"Why do you worry about keeping it hidden?" Kylen asked immediately, but she used the tone of voice one would use to ask if someone wanted cream and sugar in their coffee. It was a deliberate contortion to keep the conversation from becoming unpleasant.

"Celina, what in the hell are you going on about?" The bells in his head had turned into klaxons. 

"But...?" She interrupted him.

"Drop it, Kylen. Now." 

The two ate in silence for a good five minutes. Unlike Amy during their marriage, Kylen had done as McQueen had asked. Also, unlike Amy, McQueen knew instinctively that she would not ask again. Little Kylen would handle this confusion on her own, or take it to her grave, but she would not ask again. 

Upon reflection it seemed obvious to McQueen that she had issues - that she was projecting something onto him. Something that may or may not have anything to do with him at all. But then again he had just caught himself projecting old battles with Amy onto Kylen. It took him about five seconds to weigh the balance. McQueen began a conscious process of talking himself into pursuing the conversation. He had to know. He had to understand her thought process. It would bug him. Stick in his mind. He would continue to think about it until he knew.

"OK, OK. I'll listen. Whatever it is. I'm a big boy. Let me have it.... Why does it seem to bother you?" 

Kylen appraised him - gauging his sincerity. McQueen nodded 'yes' once. He meant it - she should say what was on her mind. She looked straight into his face. When Kylen finally spoke it was quiet, but with immense intensity and she jabbed the tabletop with her finger for emphasis.

"I think people need to see it. Don't let them ever think that it never happened - that it was just some war story - that you weren't real. Like you should show them all. "Look, this is what they did to me. This is what you did to me. This is what I was prepared to give up. Now, you people who sit around in your little houses. You people who won't serve me or rent me a room. You people who expect me to do this for you - put up or shut up"

McQueen couldn't have done it - leave the leg uncovered - it's AI technology open to view. He wouldn't even want to. _"Look somewhere else for a cause. Don't look at me. Deal with your own issues, Kid." _ But McQueen could see her doing it. He sensed that there was an unbending streak inside of her. She would do it. Like the families of those guillotined during the French Revolution. She would wear the red ribbon around her neck. _"Let them all see and let them all face themselves in the mirror. God, I think she really would do it."_

"Kylen, trust me when I tell you that there are things better left hidden. Things you don't need or want to telegraph to the world at large."

"Why should I care? It's the truth, anyhow. It happened. It's my life. It's your life. Let them deal with it. Who cares?" She remarked, and it was now evident to McQueen how hard she was working to maintain a reasonable tone and expression.

"You will. Someday you will care very much. You are right. It is your life and my life. It isn't theirs. People will want to know all about what it was like to be held by the Chigs. And I don't mean people who love you and are concerned about you. And I don't mean people who need to know for the greater good. I mean perfect strangers who just want to get their rocks off. There will be a lot of those. Prurient interest, Kylen."

"Most of the Holocaust survivors kept their tattoos," she said. Kylen could see that there were perhaps, some benefits in just putting the truth out there. That people's reactions would be tempered by the unspoken recognition of someone who had faced the unthinkable. A great number of people, probably most, would be moved. They might treat you differently. It seemed to have a positive side.

McQueen thought the exact opposite. He could easily see the negative aspects of leaving your business out in the street. People would treat you differently. He spoke with equal intensity and unconsciously copied her gestures. "And a lot of them wore long sleeved shirts. They kept the tattoos for personal reasons. The important thing is that they knew. Whether they had the tattoo removed or whether they left it alone. Whether they showed it or covered it. Whether I choose to have this leg grafted or not. It is my choice. You think that I will forget that it is there? Ever?"

McQueen had won her instantly, and he knew it. Kylen paled and sat back as if she had been hit with a ton of bricks. She had built a gesture of defiance. A theoretical scenario. He had brought her back to reality with a thump. McQueen felt no sense of victory. It hadn't been an argument to be won. He chose to think of it as instruction. But he did feel a sense of relief that it was over. 

"Holy shit, Kylen. You are not only one hell of a woman but sometimes, I think, you are one hell of a man," he muttered. He let her stew in her own juices for a while. McQueen knew that he had given her things to think over, but he also wanted to let her know that he was not offended. McQueen had asked her to speak her mind and he was, indeed, a big boy. He tapped his fork against her plate to get her attention.

"Have you heard from Nathan?" he asked.

Kylen raised her eyes to his face and smiled awkwardly. She realized that she hadn't been forgiven - that McQueen didn't feel that there was any offense that would require his forgiveness. She was again stuck by his generosity of spirit.

"A couple of short e-mails off of the spacenet. Marked censored so they seem stiff. They leave the personal stuff alone pretty much," she chuckled softly. McQueen could only imagine. Kylen continued. "I have to read between the lines. Is everything censored?"

"There are a few secured channels, but their use is restricted - for obvious reasons," he said. McQueen was sure of one thing, however. There were certain things that the censors would not let through, and West was too intelligent to try. Kylen had no idea of the hot water that the 5-8 was in. It would take a while for all of the fallout of Anvil to hit ground. McQueen was not about to tell her either.

Kylen realized that McQueen had gotten information about Vansen and Damphousse from somewhere._ "He either has access or has been contacted by people who do. Yes, he definitely is a Somebody." _ She had another thought immediately on top of that. _"McQueen is going to know a lot of things. Things he can't tell me."_

"Colonel, please do something for me. If there is something that you can't tell me. Don't lie to me. Just tell me that you can't tell me. Please, don't ever lie to me."

McQueen would have liked to have known what train of thought brought her to that rather sudden change of subject. But he did, however, get the gist of her request.

"All right. But you have to remember, Kylen, not everything will be bad," he said, but thought: _"Most things seem to be, but not everything. It's not the whole truth, but not an outright lie. A prevarication. It's the only one I'll give you."_

Amy and Dale arrived at that moment, ready to start the day.

"At your usual table I see." Dale said.

"Twenty minutes and able to get out by himself," Kylen reported off to Amy, who seemed pleased.

"Same tomorrow then," Amy said. She turned her gaze to McQueen. "Let's go. You are booked on the Balance Master."

"The what?" McQueen asked

"You need much more work on your balance. The Balance Master. It is as it sounds. We've got to work the ankle and toes. Subtle moves for your balance. Sorry, Kylen but this is all mine."

McQueen cringed and the two left the room for the gym.

Kylen rose and began to clear their places. " Dale - Dr. Steinbeck, may I speak with you later ... as Colonel McQueen's physician?"

"Well, my dear, it just so happens that I have some time right now. Walk with me. We'll go to my office. What's on your mind?" 

Kylen had to lengthen her strides to keep up with the tall surgeon. "Well, first of all, what can you tell me?"

"Well, our McQueen did not list you as Power of Attorney or as family, and he hasn't communicated any wishes to me regarding your status. So, technically, I can tell you very little about him specifically. But we can speak in general terms about his type of injury and general recovery. I can tell you that physically he is doing very well. My star pupil, if you will."

They had reached the office and Kylen took a seat. "Well, in general terms then what can you tell me about the psychological aspects of recovery? The physical seems pretty straight forward."

"Ah yes, the Enigmatic McQueen. He does present us with a challenge. In general terms ... I can tell you that on occasion one of my patients will politely, but steadfastly stonewall our Psychologist. Whose experience with InVitros, I'll admit, is largely theoretical. You didn't know the Colonel prior to his injury did you?"

"No, I didn't."

"That's a bit too bad. But, then again, maybe not. You don't bring any baggage to the table." He was thinking of McQueen and Amy. Not the best of circumstances for either of them, but it was good for Dale, as the physician, to have some of Amy's insights - colored as they were by personal history. 

Kylen did think of something, however, that might be useful. "I can tell you though, Dr. Steinbeck.....I don't want to betray his confidence." She hesitated.

Dale Steinbeck picked up her thread. "One can always speak hypothetically, Kylen."

"OK. Hypothetically. If one of your patients had a particular reason to hate Silicates. A personal and painful reason. And now - to have this type of prosthetic ... no matter how marvelous.... Well, he has to loathe it on a very deep level ... to have his future depend on AI technology."

"Thank you, Kylen. In a case such as you describe ... I would have to rethink about how I approach certain aspects of the process." _"No, I didn't know. I knew about the torture - It's obvious. But I didn't know if it was the Nicaraguans, the CCs or the AIs. Our Colonel is well traveled, and it took longer to download his considerable medical record than any I have ever seen. And a lot of it was remarkably shoddy. That's important information for me." _

Steinbeck wondered why Amy had never told him. He wondered if she even knew that it had been the AIs. Dale could envision McQueen not revealing any of the particulars to Amy. It was not at all uncommon. Steinbeck was, in fact, surprised that the Colonel had shared that information with Kylen._ "It must have been an interesting trip home for the two of them."_ Steinbeck filed the information away and turned back to the business at hand.

"So, Kylen, lets begin by you telling me what you think - in general terms, of course - about rehabilitation following this type of injury," he said.

"Well, it seems like a lot of it should be common sense, but I want to get it right. I don't want to screw it up," Kylen admitted.

"The thing about common sense, Kylen, is that it is frequently and remarkably uncommon," Steinbeck said with a laugh.

"He doesn't go on about feeling like less of a man does he?" Kylen asked.

"Tyrus Cassius McQueen doesn't 'go on' about anything," Dale smirked. "I think that's part of the problem - in general terms. But I'm curious about your tone. Why do you dismiss the idea that it is how people really feel about losing a limb?" Dale asked.

"Well, I do and I don't. I understand it's important how a person thinks of himself. But the leg isn't the person," she said. "A person's feelings about themselves - who they feel that they are down deep inside - That's what makes the person who they are."

Dale picked up on her train of thought. "And how they feel about themselves doesn't have to do with how the world sees them? How they see themselves? Their body-image? After all, they are pretty tied together, Kylen."

Kylen was having difficulty explaining. "No, that isn't what I mean. Of course how you see yourself is very important. But ... but I guess what I mean is.... To say that missing a leg makes you feel like less than a man. Well, that is just the tip of the iceberg isn't it? A person is more than the sum of their parts, aren't they? It's a bit too facile."

"You may very well be right, Kylen, but how else can someone put it into words?" Steinbeck asked.

"I don't know. I can't explain how I feel about it, and I'm not even the one affected," she admitted.

"So imagine how confused the person who is affected must feel. I believe that they fight that same argument without the benefit of distance. It has to be difficult. There must be turmoil don't you think?" he asked, then continued.

"My patients have told me about the importance not just of walking on their own, which is a pretty obvious thing, but just the ability to stand. Just to stand on their own. And this is coming from some former patients not at all given to introspection and self-exploration. They just want to be able to stand on their own. The physical act. We could go on all day about the psychological implications of that particular desire and more particularly the way that they word it. And we certainly can't ignore it. But if we focus only on these feelings I think we miss an important key. A real key."

Kylen felt that she understood what he was driving at. "Well, isn't that how we see the world. When you have to sit down all the time, the way you see everything is changed. The physical way you see things. Just having to look up to speak with people - that must translate into a person's internal life as well."

"And the way other people see you changes," Steinbeck rejoined. He continued. "The process is complex enough as it is. We don't need to add anything else to it. I mean to say that if we can take care of something - then we should do it. Keep things direct and simple when we can. If a person is upset because they cannot stand - and if we can - then we need to help them to stand. The simple something. The psychological aspect doesn't miraculously disappear, but it does become more manageable. We have to give our patients self-determination, then do whatever we can to assist them in achieving their goals. We need to have a dual focus - the concrete and the intangible."

"What is the biggest problem people face - as you see it?" she asked

"In a nutshell?" he asked, his amusement evident. "The problems are manifest and as varied as the patients. But if I had to name one thing that I see in all my patients - It's fear. Fear. I sincerely doubt that McQueen will give voice to it. Don't expect him to say anything, and it isn't your job to ask - that's mine," he emphasized. "But you have to know that it is there - under the surface. It will color everything to a certain extent."

Fear. It was something that Kylen could understand. She had been afraid for the last eighteen months. What had been upsetting was the fact that rescue did not mean the sudden absence of fear. There were still any number of things that she feared. Dale could read her understanding and elaborated.

"Fear that the prosthetic won't take or that you won't master it. That you won't be able to handle it. Fear that the people you love won't be able to handle it - that they will be turned off. That they will eventually just leave. People do that, you know. Just leave. Fear that people will find out and be curious, or repelled, or think that disability means lack of ability. Fear that people will think you can't do your job or fear that you have lost your career or the ability to live as you did. Your entire life has been changed - usually violently and without notice." Dale became aware that, in part, he could be describing Kylen's life as well, but he went on.

"But the major item is the fact that you are different. Your are different from how you were days ago, but even more importantly, you are now different from everybody else in an elemental and significant way. People speak to me of being disconnected. Of being alone. That they will never quite fit in again."

"The thing that makes you exceptional, if you are at all, is inevitably that which must also make you lonely," Kylen recited.

Dale could see that she had grasped the concept. "And our McQueen was, I understand, exceptional even before this," he said. "Now in McQueen's case - he is faced with an ever tightening circle - becoming a smaller and smaller minority. Until there is just one. Count it down for yourself. A white male in today's global society. An InVitro. An InVitro who is still alive twenty years out of the tank. An InVitro in the military. A marine. A fighter pilot. An officer. An officer of command rank. An amputee. An artificial intelligence prosthetic." Dale Steinbeck let the list of McQueen's isolation sink in for a few seconds then, to seal the bargain he repeated, counting off on his fingers.

"Let's see. A Caucasian InVitro, over the age of thirty-five, marine fighter pilot, Colonel amputee, with an experimental artificial limb. I think we are down to the only person on the planet. A population of one. He has no peer group."

"The Peerless McQueen," Kylen said.

"The Peerless, Solitary, Exceptional, Enigmatic and Unrepentant McQueen," Dale recited. "Good luck to us all."

"Is that why he let you reupholster the leg?" she asked.

"Why would you ask such a thing?" Dale responded.

"There was a rebellious part of me that wanted him not to cover it. Not to blend in. A Scarlet Letter," she admitted sheepishly.

"That is perverse Kylen. It's distasteful. Not only is it unrealistic: It is unfair. That's what YOU want to do. It's a statement YOU want to be made because you admire and want to defend him. And it's a statement about your own life you want to transfer to him. That's a battle you have no right to expect him to fight for you. McQueen is many things, but don't expect him to be a poster child. He won't stand for it."

End Chapter Eighteen

Literary Giants M.Wheels


	19. Colette

Chapter Nineteen - Colette

Kylen went to the gym, and caught up with Amy and McQueen and the Balance Master. It looked like a V.R. deck, but the circular floor moved and dipped up to 35 degrees. McQueen and Amy were both obviously deep in concentration. Kylen sat out of the way so as not to distract either. 

While she watched, Kylen thought of her conversation with Steinbeck - what he had said about McQueen and what he had said about fear. Kylen remembered something that she had read a lifetime ago: _"'A door slamming makes one jump but it doesn't make one afraid. What one fears is the serpent that crawls underneath it.' There are just too many damn serpents," _she thought. Steinbeck had spoken of feeling disconnected and not fitting in. She wondered if Steinbeck knew how close he had come to the mark. To her mark. She had felt and continued to feel like a guest in her father's home - her home. And before too long she would have to do something. Something that resembled 'real life.' A job. A place to live. A way to define her dreams. Soon. Kylen toyed with the idea of setting a date - of giving herself a specific goal. She wasn't sure, though, if she could meet any goal yet. Getting laundry done was hard enough. Kylen wasn't sure if she had the energy or concentration needed to reach any goal. She knew that her reserves were still at a low ebb, and she wasn't sure if further examination of her feelings would give her any more answers than she already had. Kylen certainly didn't believe that it would give her more energy.

When it came to facing her demons, Kylen didn't totally agree with Steinbeck. She and McQueen were more of the same mind. _"The longer we dwell on our misfortunes the greater is their power to harm us," _she thought. It seemed that there were people who liked to hang onto their angst. Some of the survivors bathed in it. You had to decide to live or to let go - foam on the ocean. And if you decided to live then you had to go about doing it. Face down your demons - don't take them to dinner. Kylen no longer wanted to be 'in expectation of living.' She remembered McQueen telling her: 'I didn't say that it was easy. I just said that it was what I thought you should try to do.'

Kylen watched him work and wondered what was going on in his mind. McQueen had never answered her question. She wasn't sure what kept him going, but he seemed to her to be a man who needed little other than himself - his own beliefs, his own sense of self - his own honor. A man who could and would deny himself what he loved the most. Kylen wondered what he would do now - after the injury. McQueen and the Marine Corps. Where would all those beliefs, that honor, that self go? 

Kylen knew that, as an InVitro, McQueen's life had most probably always been highly structured; no matter in the mines or in the military. And the Marine Corps was certainly a highly defined culture unto itself. She felt that McQueen was probably one of those people who craved structure in their lives. Kylen's brother, Connor, was such a one. "A place for everything and everything in its place." And it was more than just his belongings. Connor was organized and disciplined in all areas of his life. He functioned better within a pattern and he had become a construction engineer. If there was no pattern Connor would make one. 

__

"No, McQueen had gotten at least one piece of luck in his life," she thought. His was a character that found a sense of freedom within a discipline. It was like a turtle and it's shell. The turtle lives inside its shell and is given life by it. The shell is 'armor, plumage, camouflage, and refuge.' It is home. The shell is both the method of attack and defense. Kylen knew instantly that most people would not understand the analogy and may even think it demeaning. Many would think of the shell as a facade or something to hide within. But the carapace not only defines the animal but is its essence. To demean would be to deny the miracle and perfection of design. Some things can't be separated. Some things were meant to fit into place. 

The system had given him the tools to construct his life from traits received through the design of capricious and anonymous technicians; propeller heads who had relieved their boredom by adding genes for absolute pitch and astonishing blue eyes. The system had provided a space for McQueen's remarkable character to be formed and within the system he had achieved remarkable things.

"_Why would he ever want to be separated from the Corps? Had he ever even thought of it? Why would he ever consider it?" _Kylen speculated.

"Keep your eyes open," Amy ordered. Kylen jerked her head and opened her eyes, which she hadn't even realized that she had closed during her musings. It was like getting caught sleeping in class. But it was not to Kylen that Amy had spoken; it had been McQueen. "Wait until you get better at this then you can close your eyes. Find your focus," Amy finished.

Kylen supposed that she had answered a portion of 'The McQueen Question' for herself. The external, comparatively simple, part of Steinbeck's rehabilitation - The concrete "something." McQueen has long ago chosen to wrap his life in scarlet and gold. As his friend, her 'job,' if you will, would be to help him achieve that again. Kylen gazed absently at McQueen. He had become almost an abstraction in her thoughts. She let her mind float as she took in the sight; McQueen working to bend and compensate, attempting to adjust to the shifting floor beneath his feet. 

She thought that the quote about the tortoise that she couldn't quite recall was from a book she had read about Colette. Kylen's mind wandered. "_Had McQueen ever read Colette? Not a chance in hell." _She smiled inside - to herself. It was a priceless image, though. _"Oh well, we can't be expected to always hit on the same cylinders."_

Kylen had been thirteen when she had discovered the play and then the movie versions of 'Gigi.' She had loved it then and she loved it still. How she had loved the romance, the music and the costumes. How she had wanted to be able to drink Champagne and dance around the living room. As an adult it had become Kylen's favorite drink and she hadn't tasted it in almost two years. Kylen remembered, rather to her surprise, that Champagne still existed. She smiled. If it existed then she probably did as well.

McQueen had been aware of Kylen; had seen her enter and sit, silent and respectful. He could only wonder what had created the cryptic smile on her face. McQueen shifted his gaze back to his selected focus point on the wall. Kylen slipped from his consciousness as he concentrated on the task at hand.

Kylen drew her legs up and hugged her knees, looking at - but no longer seeing - the exercise before her. She thought of her childhood, her adolescence, her road to discovery. It amazed her how a single flash, a glimpse of a half-formed memory could transport a person. A smell, a sound, a song. It sounded a bit ridiculous, she knew, but one of the hardest things for her to deal with - something that had really almost pushed several of the POWs over the edge - was the AIs repeating OKLAHOMA incessantly. That and good poetry and bad television shows. They had used the memories - these flashes of comfort - as weapons against the survivors. Kylen had remembered her father singing 'Oh what a Beautiful Morning" in the milking parlor first thing in the morning. You could hear him singing it if you walked across the paddock. Loud and full and audible even in the winter with the windows closed. The Silicates had forever tainted that memory of her childhood. Like pouring poison into a well, that source of comfort was taken from her forever. Kylen was only just beginning to comprehend the subtlety of some of the tortures the AIs had devised.

Kylen had actually prayed, really prayed, that the Elroy and Brandon units didn't know My Fair Lady, Gigi, or Take Ten and Celebrate. And those two units had disappeared shortly after she had seen Nathan and the rest of the marines. A lot of the units had disappeared but the POWs weren't rescued and the games when on.

The Colonists hadn't been systematically starved like the Japanese had starved the European civilians during World War II, but they never had known when the next meal was coming. Sometimes food arrived in the middle of the night forcing them to eat in that smothering blackness. Her two broken fingers had been ignored and she had once been made to beg for a hot needle to relieve the pressure of blood collecting under one of her fingernails. The Felicity unit had held a weapon on Kylen and had watched the minor surgery, making jokes. But, conversely, Kylen remembered having fallen after about ten months in the mines. She had hit her head and had awakened alone in a cell with a bandage. Her jumpsuit had been cleaned. People had been singled out for special treatment - often repellent, but sometimes good - extra food or a blanket or a day of rest. The Silicates had tried to destroy their memories and their unity.

Kylen remembered Colette's diary. "I should indeed like....

1. to begin again

2. to begin again

3. to begin again."

McQueen's voice bordering on rudeness cut into her thoughts. "Just what are you staring at?" The balance session was over.

Kylen was brought back suddenly and fumbled a bit for her words. "What? Oh, It wasn't you ... I wasn't staring at you ... I was just thinking ... I apologize ... Was I staring?" She had an idea. A way to begin. She stood. "I want lobsta.' (Kylen pronounced it in the tried and true New England fashion). I want a big lobsta' dinna' and I want melted butter to drip down my chin. Have you ever had real New England lobster, Colonel?"

"I've had lobster." McQueen said rather defensively. "In South America, Haiti, Diego, Loxley. I wasn't born yesterday."

"No, Ty," Amy said. "You've had warm water lobster - langoustines. Yankees consider them serviceable but not the real thing. I don't know that you have ever had a real cold water lobster."

Kylen was on a roll. "Great. Amy, where is the best place to go? I know it's the off season but there has to be something open. We're going out to dinner tonight - the four of us. I'll make reservations." She didn't immediately catch the looks of concern on both McQueen and Amy.

Amy and McQueen exchanged meaningful looks. They shared separate but equally unpleasant memories. InVitros usually just didn't pick up and 'go out to dinner.' There were a few restaurants in the ghettos and around the various InVitro enclaves. But if one went outside those areas, things could easily and often become unpleasant. You had to be sure you would be granted entrance - that you would be served. There had been more than one uncomfortable scene in restaurants during their brief marriage. Amy had become adept at making screening phone calls and visits prior to actually making plans. McQueen had finally just stopped going in order to spare Amy the hassle of it all. 

"Another time, Celina." McQueen said as he got down from the machine and took up his cane. 

Kylen caught the use of her surname and the tone of voice. She was being given an order. Kylen was supposed to drop the topic. She was frustrated.

"If not tonight ... Then tomorrow. Come on." She pleaded. "I've had enough.... I want.... I want to do what I want. It's time. We need to begin again." She sputtered softly.

Amy looked at McQueen and shrugged. Kylen finally caught onto their silent exchange and a beat later appreciated the reason. She wasn't about to be stymied so easily. "Amy, you told me that there were good people here. You said there were some very good people. Colonel McQueen has been on the national news and in the paper. He isn't a 'nobody.' Let's just find out. Can we at least do that?"

Amy looked at Kylen and choked back old resentments. Amy had vowed that she would never do it again - that she would never allow herself to be put in this position - juggling her life around the requirements of T.C. McQueen - but there she was. It was bound to happen, she supposed. Maybe it was a good thing. It was past time for her to begin again as well. This had focused the light on one of the reasons she hadn't been able to stay with Ty in the first place. One of the reasons. One of several. Amy wasn't interested in rekindling any flame but she had at least started to like him. _"OK, one last time," _she thought._ "I'll take Kylen through the drill. Then pass off the responsibility. We can't keep Ty hidden in The Barn forever. He isn't a runaway slave, after all. He is a decorated veteran."_ Amy had been astonished at McQueen's willingness to follow Dale's suggestions for the living arrangements. It had worried her. As uncomfortable as it might be for Amy to go through the same old motions, it was time to start getting him out into the world so that they all could start over. Amy realized that she had never lost admiration for the man. 

"She is right," Amy said to McQueen. "Its time. I know Dale has work in the lab to get done tonight - a new hand. Surgery is scheduled for Saturday. But, let's at least see what is available. You two can go. Kylen, this evening, before dinner, I'll show you how this is done."

******************** 

Dale's house was generally calm in the evening with occasional bursts of laughter from Dale and Kylen, who would often draw in the other two. It was one of the things Kylen loved the most about visiting - the relaxation of the evenings. It was like exhaling. But on this evening Dale had stayed at the lab and Kylen had made dinner for the others by herself. The tension in the household was palpable; under control, but Kylen was holding her breath. She had inadvertently set off a bomb in the makeshift household. The professional, detached relationship that McQueen and Amy had studiously tried to cultivate had been rocked by her simple request: "Let's go out to dinner." Amy was withdrawn working at her terminal and McQueen, perhaps more taciturn than normal, perused Dale's wonderful library. Kylen moved back and forth between the two trying to gloss things over - to bring them out. She felt that if one would just bend a little the other would follow suit, and the calm air would return to the house, but no one going to budge. Both separately refused her invitation to go to the pier. 

Kylen had been ready to leave them both downstairs and retreat to the shower when Major Howard called to check in on her. She hadn't bothered to ask how he knew where she was. _"He probably knows the color of my underwear," she_ thought bitterly. _"It is the last straw. Too many serpents crawling under the doors." _ Kylen gave up and was out the door taking a care package to the lab for Dale.

Kylen entered the sanctum sanctorum with an air of obvious frustration. Dale smiled to himself. He could only picture the atmosphere over at The Barn.

"The big kids didn't want to play with you this evening? Beat you down did they?" Dale asked ruefully without looking up from his work. "Or did they freeze you out? Going out to dinner seemed like a good idea at the time, didn't it? Well, no good deed goes unpunished, my young friend."

"But.... Oh, they are just so.... so ..." Kylen complained.

"Frustrating. Stubborn. Headstrong. Intransigent. Willful?" Dale offered his suggestions. "You are preaching to the choir here, Kylen. It was and is a good idea. Talk to the hand," he joked and held up the mechanical prosthetic he was fine-tuning. It was a sick little joke, but it made Kylen giggle.

"That's better. There is hope for you yet, my child," Dale said with mock gravity. "I smell garlic. Come. Sit. What did you bring me?" Dale began to eat.

"I'm sorry I even brought it up," Kylen admitted. "You can't come with us and Amy won't."

"Nonsense, it is a perfectly good thing to do. I think that you may have the tendency to take other people's problems on as your own. They will work things out. Don't take on their problems, Kylen, and don't use theirs to hide from your own." 

Dale could be an absolute tyrant about confidentiality at the Clinic. But Steinbeck adored people and loved to be involved in their lives. He hated gossip on moral grounds. But Kylen was now involved personally with both of the people in question. Without going too deeply into the specifics, which he didn't know anyway, Dale decided to give the newest member of the 'The Steinbeck Set' a little bit of the story. He couldn't help himself; he told stories almost as well as Kylen. Dale would relate 'The Tale':

"Amy and our Black Prince? That is a strange thing, I'll admit. The story, as I have been given to understand, is close to the following, at least from her side."

" - Amy, poor little rich girl, is tired of Main Line Frat Boys and political up-and-comers. It being an election year and all, with the AI rebellion winding down, she is out stumping with Daddy - who she loathed by the way - even then. But she is coming off of yet another unsatisfying attempt at a relationship, and it is better than another dull summer at the shore. They are making the rounds of military bases. So she finds McQueen out in the back of beyond, at some base in Alabama - of all places. Amy took one look, saw what she felt she wanted and set her cap for the man. She was a real shark, and I've told her as much to her face. Poor McQueen: He didn't stand a chance. I'm given to understand their relationship was a real bodice ripper. A melt your fillings gothic romance. Le Grande Passion. Made all the more delicious by the fact that her father - the Honorable Senator - is well known for his Anti InVitro Rights position. Let your imagination run wild. If they could have left things there, they would probably have been fine. But Grande Passions being what they are, they were married within three months, and Amy disinherited living on a military base on Hell's little half acre."

"Amy being the child of her parents then sets about doing the only thing she knows how to do. She has found the wounded, untamed, dynamic, Black Prince of her dreams so she immediately sets about trying to turn him into a Main Line Frat Boy. The Black Prince, being the child of no parents - the self made man of her dreams - doesn't take to heel and things rapidly deteriorate. (Don't let her kid you, she hates flying and anything to do with the Marine Corps). She is a child of wealth and privilege, remember. (As the daughter of a Senator with his eyes on higher positions - physical therapy was supposed to be a 'community service' not a career.) Then the reality of being married to an InVitro starts to set in. I understand it was with an unpleasant and rather nasty thump. Her romantic notions got flushed."

"Romance can be a spellbinding part of love - breathtaking - but never confuse romance for love, Kylen. My Aunt once gave me a sage piece of advice. 'Never marry anyone until you have wallpapered a room together.' (You'll notice the distinct lack of wallpaper in The Barn, Mon doux.) Suffice it to say that Tyrus and Amy didn't do any wallpapering before they took the plunge. A little under eighteen months start to finish, and it looks as if the mess is only just now, finally, almost cleaned up. 'It's not the tragedies of life that kill us. It's the mess.' " 

"They are a decidedly civilized duo, don't you think? Polite and professional. But, I mean really, let it go already. She is family and I love her. And he is.... Well, he is who he is. Good God, I hope they can both finally be done with tragique la petite affaire and move on. The only dead things one should hold onto are dried flowers - and those only for a season."

"I doubt that either one of them thought it was a 'little affair,' Kylen speculated, mildly.

"No, I doubt that either of them did, at that," Steinbeck admitted sadly as he put his arm around Kylen's shoulders.

"So, they were never really friends." Kylen realized it as she spoke.

"Oh, I think that they are starting. I think they'd like to be," Dale asserted. "But no. Not at the time. I don't think they even thought to like each other. It seems like a loss doesn't it?"

Kylen was now a bit uncomfortable talking about two people that she liked and chose to shift the mood.

"Besides, friendship gets you through times of no sex better than sex gets you through times of no friends," she confided to Dale who threw back his head and laughed. He found her to be very wise for her age. An old soul with a fresh outlook and he enjoyed her company. 

"Tomorrow, Kylen, let me show you my garden. I have flowers for every season in my garden." With that, he went back to his work.

End Chapter Nineteen


	20. Voltaire

Chapter Twenty - Voltaire

Kylen was slow to waken, having gone to bed with a relaxation tape containing the sounds of the ocean. Listening to the waves, she had slept surprisingly well. McQueen, on the other hand, was up bright and early ready to slip his traces and start to take control of his own recovery. _"Kylen is here. Let her make herself useful. 0630 it is. Everybody into the pool." _ It took him a while to get her moving at a speed he considered acceptable. He called her a 'slug' and she, in turn, called him a 'grind.' There was no way Kylen was leaving The Barn without her coffee, thank you very much, and in the future the least McQueen could do was to have coffee ready for her. Kylen was not a morning person. After the feathers had been smoothed, the morning went off without a hitch. 

McQueen worked out in the pool while Kylen watched. They had breakfast. Amy worked McQueen on the Balance Master and the treadmill. The occupational therapist worked with him on fine motor movements of his new toes. There was lunch. During the afternoon, Kylen and McQueen went for a walk. 

Kylen and McQueen had remarkably similar thoughts on the day, but were each affected differently by those thoughts. It had been companionable and purposeful. No drama. No anxiety. Nothing to prove. A job to be done. Pleasant company. Relaxed conversation. It was as if half forgotten doors were being opened. What Kylen and McQueen each found behind those doors was the same only different. Little doors of normalcy. A remembrance that life could be lived every day; a little bit at a time. A memory that life often was just the little bits strung together.

************************

Dale Steinbeck knocked on the door and entered McQueen's room after receiving a terse 'Enter.' McQueen was buttoning his khaki shirt. He was dressing in the 'B' Service Uniform - acceptable attire for leave or liberty. Amy had selected his new kit wisely. Just a few things, but well chosen.

"Well, I see that the women folk got everything arranged to their satisfaction," Dale spoke easily. 

"I thought you had work to do in the lab," McQueen said, hoping that Dale's appearance now meant that Steinbeck would be able to attend Kylen's little dinner party.

"I do, but I thought I should let you know that I double-checked their arrangements myself. As a matter of fact, Charlie, the owner, is a former patient. By the way, I dare you to identify what he has that is new. That said just to give you confidence in my work and the process. Charlie has a daughter in the Navy - down in Norfolk. And he was pleased to be of service to a decorated military man - regardless of his method of birth. Sorry, but I did give him a bit of your story." Dale held up his hand to ward off McQueen's withering look. "Nothing that hasn't been shown on television, I assure you, Tyrus. Look, it is a public place so I can't make any guarantees but Charlie won't put up with any crap in his place. No, I'm actually here because I have another worry. I was almost out the door when it hit me." 

Dale flipped McQueen a sheet of sandpaper. "You'll need this for the bottom of those new shoes. Scuff them up good now. I don't want you to go slipping and sliding around the island. I do have a reputation to protect. Have a good time." He patted McQueen on the back and was gone.

McQueen turned, and using his cane negotiated his way to the chair. He sat and scuffed up the bottoms of his shoes._" Why didn't I just say no to all of this? Kylen had said it was a dinner 'to begin again.' Now what in the hell does that mean?"_ He tied his tie (field scarf), pulled on the green sweater and stood at his dresser checking the mirror to be sure he was squared away. The birds looked good on his shoulders. He began filling his pockets when the Bad Penny herself showed up at the door. 

"Ready?" she asked. Kylen watched him take the knife off of the dresser and move to put it into his pocket. "Let me see," she said and crossed to him holding out her hand. McQueen gave her the knife. She weighed it in her palm and fingered it's graphite casing. "Show me," she said softly, handing it back to him. 

McQueen took the butterfly knife from her hand and with a deft move of his wrist snapped it open. 

"Again," she urged.

McQueen couldn't even begin to understand the reason for her request, but it was of obvious importance to her and cost him nothing. He closed the knife and then repeated the action. He held the knife open for a few seconds and then closed it. Fascinated by her concentration, McQueen repeated the action a third time, unbidden. Kylen held out her hand for the weapon. His curiosity peeked, McQueen placed the closed blade in her palm where it rested like an offering. 

"Teach me," she said, staring into her hand.

McQueen again felt that 'frisson.' It was becoming familiar now. Kylen could say things - do things - which shocked him. Few people had that power. He tried to deflect her. 

"It isn't strictly legal, Kylen," he said. _""I can think of at least four states where the knife itself is illegal. Then there are those states where it is illegal for an InVitro to carry any weapon whatsoever."_

"I understand," she said, looking up to meet his eyes. "Teach me."

"It's not a skill you need to acquire, Kylen."

"I do," she said. "I don't want to feel like I'm defenseless again."

"You are home now. You don't need a knife." McQueen gently plucked the knife from her palm. "Most civilians are wounded or killed with their own weapons," he added as an after thought.

"I know. That's why I need a good teacher." Kylen said.

"I thought we were going out to eat lobster - to celebrate beginning again," McQueen said and pointedly put the knife into his pocket. 

"We are. But I never want to feel like a victim ever again." Kylen was at her most reasonable.

McQueen composed his thoughts. He totally understood her feelings. It was why he carried the blade. But the thought of giving her a knife repelled him somehow. She needed to be involved with more enlightened pursuits. Kylen shouldn't have to stay forever in survival mode - mired in her fears._ "One should do nothing against one's conscience."_ McQueen wasn't even sure why, but it was strongly - very strongly - against his conscience to teach Kylen to knife fight. He would not aid what he felt was folly. As gently as he could possibly say it; for he knew that it would probably disappoint her, he gave her his final word.

"No. I can't do it. Not for you and not to you. Don't ask me to do this," he said looking away from her bracing for a wave of Kylen's accusation and disappointment to hit him. She surprised him. 

Kylen gently place her hand on his arm. "That's all right Colonel. Slow and steady wins the race." McQueen was lost at that last statement. He could not follow her train.

"Don't give it another thought," Kylen said kindly. "Let's go to dinner."

Kylen had baffled McQueen yet again. He had disappointed her, of this he was sure, but her reaction had been to reach out and give him a comforting touch. He refused to consider the possibility that she was pulling a fast one on him and he was correct. 

Kylen was disappointed and she might have been hurt but for the fact that McQueen's refusal had been so ... So ... tender. She lost herself in private thought for a moment while she tried to define what she had seen and heard. It hit her. A memory from her childhood. _"I must have been eight or nine when Dad told me that Maxie, our dog, had been hit by a car. I remember it to this day. Not so much for the fact that Maxie had died, but for how difficult it had been for Dad to tell me. That's what I really remember - the pain and concern on Dad's face - in his voice. My father had been afraid to tell me. I remember feeling that he was very brave to do something that frightened him so much. I remember feeling that I could be strong for my Dad - that I could help him not be so sad and afraid. The ego of a child. I still remember that moment. McQueen had sounded like that - afraid to tell me something I wouldn't want to hear. Something that he felt would upset me. I wonder what he was really thinking - to sound so vulnerable, so fragile? Whatever you do, Kylen, never touch a butterfly's wing with your finger," _she thought._ "If he can't teach me, I'll just find someone who will." _

It was a hitch in her plan but not the end of it.

*********************

Charlie's was a neighborhood place - a bar and small restaurant about half full when they arrived. There was an interesting moment between McQueen and Kylen as they were seated. They both instinctively wanted the seat, which would put their back to the wall and give them a clear view of both the door and the entrance to the bar - the escape routes. Kylen conceded and McQueen sat in the catbird seat. Charlie picked two lobsters out of his tank. 

The dinner was excellent and the conversation covered many subjects. Kylen's desire to learn about Nathan and the rest of The Wildcards was insatiable, and it was a subject that McQueen would open up to. Between Nathan's old letters to his parents, videodisks and what McQueen had to tell her, Kylen felt she was getting a real picture of these people. She chose to share with him something that Nathan had said about him:

"Nathan wrote that you could be very tough sometimes, but that it was a good thing because it's the tough guys who lead the survivors." McQueen felt strangely humbled by the remark.

Kylen ate with what McQueen could only describe as pagan delight. Melted butter did drip onto her chin. She had been disappointed that there was no champagne, but the two made do with a few drafts. McQueen found himself counting how many Kylen drank. She had to be out of practice, and she was the one driving. He didn't like having other people drive, and McQueen had yet to take the reflex reaction test to be reissued his license. He had to admit to himself that he wasn't up to speed yet. They split a third lobster.

They talked about flying. McQueen's entire continence changed when he talked about flying. He obviously loved it and missed it more than he was willing to say. 

"After five years underground, in the mines, flying had to be a revelation. A freedom beyond thought - beyond anything you had imagined," Kylen said quietly. McQueen just gave her a smile. There was nothing he needed to say - she understood. He shared several aphorisms that amused Kylen. The old chestnut about there being 'no old bold pilots.' 'Flying isn't dangerous - crashing is dangerous.' 'The difference between God and a Fighter Pilot is that God doesn't think He is a Fighter Pilot.' And the one that made her really laugh: 'Trust thrust.'

McQueen stood and tried to excuse himself. Kylen immediately stood to take his arm.

"Damn it, Celina. You are not walking me to the head," he hissed into her ear. It was a humiliation not to be borne.

"No, Sir. You are correct. I am not," Kylen said smoothly. "I am, however, going to assist you through that maze of tables and chairs into the bar where, since this was my treat, I will pay our bill. Here is your coat."

They negotiated their way around the tables, and the handful of other patrons. Kylen placed her purse and keys on the bar, dropping her gloves in the process. McQueen bent down and picked them up for her. When McQueen leaned over the navel on the back of his neck was clearly seen by Kylen and by at least one of the men seated at the bar. 

"Thank you, Colonel," she said lightly, but clearly enough for the people in the bar to hear. McQueen excused himself. 

The man at the bar fidgeted. Kylen moved off slightly. Finally the man could not help himself any longer, and he called Charlie Morgan over to the bar.

"Did you see that?" he asked softly.

"What?" Charlie replied in a tone of voice that signaled that he would brook no nonsense. Charlie was not an overt supporter of InVitro rights but neither was he, in any way shape or form, Anti InVitro rights. It just wasn't an issue that had ever touched his life - until this evening.

"That Marine. He's a Tank," the man whispered. Like most people, this man, Cal, did not consider himself a bigot. He would never be overtly rude or confrontational, and he had not done and never would do violence. His prejudices were well hidden - even from himself. He really didn't want to make a scene. He was far more surprised than indignant. InVitros were a distinct rarity in these parts. He would never say anything to McQueen, but a Tank at Charlie's? Well, it was kind of like seeing a two-headed calf walk into your neighborhood watering hole.

"And that Marine defends your right to say things like that, Cal. Watch yourself." Charlie said evenly. In Charlie's view Cal was a good enough man, but a bit too Down East forthright for good company.

Kylen stepped forward, smiled kindly and rested her hand lightly on the man's arm. She chose to treat him as if he were a poor, not too bright, relation - who had just realized that McQueen was the Pope.

"Whoever serves his country has no need of ancestors," she said simply, but only loudly enough for the three to hear. There was no need to bring the whole bar in on the conversation. 

Kylen turned to leave and almost ran into McQueen who had silently returned. It was obvious to her that he had heard at least part of the conversation. They left the restaurant in silence.

Kylen didn't ask him. She just drove to the pier; it was a place of calm to her. She parked the car but did not get out. She sat with McQueen in the dark, partially illuminated by the lights in the lot. Kylen could see McQueen's reflection in the windshield. He was watching her - waiting for her. She took several deep breaths then, calmed, she turned toward him. "I handled that badly didn't I?"

"Kylen, you always have to weigh things. You did pretty well, but now is not the time to make new enemies," McQueen admitted to her.

"That's what I thought, but I just couldn't let it slide. I'm sorry if I embarrassed you. Now, there's something that I seem to be getting very good at. It's the only thing I'm really sure of," she said.

"Who was that?" he asked.

"My quote? Voltaire. I would have thought that it is one quotation that you would have burned into your memory," Kylen said.

__

"I will now," he thought._ "I'll save that one for Hawkes next time he goes off about country or family."_

Kylen nodded toward the pier. Her intention was clear. She had shifted her orbit again and wanted to move - wanted to be by the water. McQueen wasn't in any hurry to get back to The Barn. He could either join her or be left sitting in the darkness. It was a no-brainer. _"Keep up, McQueen," he_ thought to himself.

End Chapter Twenty

Literary Giants M.Wheels


	21. Virgil

Chapter Twenty-one - Virgil

The two got their coffee and strolled to the end of the pier. It was a ritual now. Cloud cover was moving in. McQueen and Kylen could not see the stars but they could make out the lights on several boats and over on the mainland. They each silently spent time in their own thoughts. Kylen brought her mind back to the presence of the man at her side. _"The Black Prince," Kylen_ thought._ "It fits."_ She finally screwed up her courage and spoke.

"Are you okay with Amy? I mean, she didn't want to come. It seems often like you two just met. It seems strange - like you don't know each other very well." It was a few seconds before he answered.

"We never have. It just didn't seem important at the time," McQueen muttered ironically, looking out towards the horizon, which was invisible in the darkness. "You are right. We didn't know each other at all. I haven't seen her in almost five years."

McQueen had given Winslow information - had shared part of his private life with her. He had wanted to share something - had wanted someone else to know something about his life before he died. McQueen had felt his chances with the Chig ace were not good, and he wanted to go out in three dimensions. McQueen didn't want to check out as only a symbol. He had told Kelly Winslow because she had sensed his withdrawal and had been concerned, and simply, because she had asked. McQueen knew that Kylen was earnestly trying not to ask. And that she had undoubtedly been wanting to ask since the day she had turned up at the Clinic. McQueen just really didn't know what to tell her.

"This is the second time she has shown up when I was trying to put things back together. We met at Loxley soon after my liberation from the Silicate Camp. She was like a dream. I had never even stood close to anyone or anything like her." He smiled to himself. "Be very careful what you wish for Kylen." McQueen said it like a benediction. " Believe one who has tried it," he added with irony. 

"She was who you wanted." Kylen murmured. A gentle statement.

"She was 'what' I wanted," McQueen said.

"You loved her," Kylen said softly.

"Probably. I know that I loved the 'idea' of her," McQueen said. "I couldn't believe that I had found her - That she belonged to me." He watched the ocean. Kylen remained quiet at his side. It was several moments before he spoke again.

"I should have left things as they were. She wasn't prepared. I tried to tell her. I wasn't prepared." McQueen paused again. 'He who knows he has enough is rich.'" his whispered more to himself than to her. A few moments later he looked at Kylen. "Lao-tzu," he said.

"You never know what is enough until you know what is more than enough," Kylen said. "William Blake," she added after a moment. Kylen felt strongly that McQueen had every right to grab for things he wanted.

"Manifest plainness, embrace simplicity, reduce selfishness, have few desires," he said. It was obviously a precept of importance to him. He had begun to embrace it after his liberation and it was, in fact, how he had tried to live since facing his addictions. 

"Those who restrain their desires, do so because they are weak enough to be restrained," Kylen said reasonably, as one would explain something to a child. Kylen could see that McQueen would boil things down to their simplest level. That he would 'keep it simple.' However, Tao was not a philosophy that she grasped on any sort of personal level

"There is no calamity greater than lavish desires," McQueen said after a pause. Amy had been a lavish desire and a real calamity.

"He who desires, but acts not, breeds pestilence," Kylen warned. 

He betrayed no reaction to her statement. McQueen was debating with himself. _"Is she really such a slave to her own desires? Does she really embrace such a life? No, no, it doesn't ring true. It is frustration, perhaps bravado - A way that she wished that she could live, perhaps. But it is not how she actually moves through her life. How she looks out for those around her, looks to their comfort and cares - this is how she really lives."_ Kylen had probably never been a slave to desire - at least not in the way that he had been. But she had unknowingly given him a good deal of information about herself.

Kylen looked out over the water and spoke contemplatively. "The whole point is not to find the right person but to be the right person, isn't it? But ... Well, people can't belong to you. The whole point is that you belong to them. Only then they are yours," she tried to explain.

"Why, Kylen, that is almost Tao," he said, changing tone and Kylen felt him close the door to that part of his life again. They relaxed and watched the ocean. 

Before too long, the threatened rain began to fall. It began lightly, but it was November in Maine. The rain was cold and stinging and laced with sleet. They were forced to quit the ocean.

"I wish we had some umbrella's," Kylen said as they got to the car. "I love this kind of weather." She looked longingly out towards the water. "There is no one else here. You can be by yourself. It's so private."

"Marines don't use umbrellas," McQueen stated as he entered the car, glad to be out of the weather.

"What?" Kylen asked as she got in.

"Marines' don't use umbrellas," he repeated.

"Never?"

"Not in uniform." 

"Not ever? If I was with you, you couldn't stand under mine?" she asked, bemused by the customs of the Corps.

He just gave her a look.

They made their way back to The Barn. A fire and a brandy sounded just about perfect. Kylen was driving the little red car borrowed from her brother. The rain had picked up and the wind was bringing down the last of the leaves. The roads were empty. Kylen was moving at a pretty good clip. The curve was the last one before the turn off to Dale's place and she took it a little too fast for the conditions. The rear end of the light little car slid to the right and fishtailed. Time went into slow motion as Kylen corrected for the skid. It was a well-learned response. Automatic; a muscle memory. She did over steer, however, and the car's back end slid over to the left. She was halfway trough that recorrect before the adrenaline even hit her. Kylen drove on, now obeying the speed limit. She braced herself and waited for McQueen to voice his criticism. She would have to wait a long time.

"Not bad, Kylen," he complimented. "You handled that pretty well." It was his considered opinion. Not first class, but not bad at all.

"If I was that good, I wouldn't have slid around that corner."

"But then you would have missed the rush," he offered, flashing her a grin like a child.

Kylen wanted to see his face and was forced to glance back and forth from him to the road. But she did catch a least one really good look of something she hadn't seen before. An open and gleaming quality in his face, and his eyes totally untamed. Kylen knew that she had caught something. It was only a glimpse, and a glimpse of a reflection at best. But it was a bit of the soul of a fighter pilot. She knew McQueen was good. Radford had said he was one of the best of the best, and Radford had told her about the air battle. But for the first time she really could see McQueen - this man she knew, this man sitting next to her - tear-assing all over the sky. 

"Pilots," she said affably.

"'Fortune favors the bold,'" he intoned with great solemnity, but he was wearing his half smile.

Kylen should have felt chastened. Her carelessness had almost caused an accident, but she felt a sudden freedom. It was like running down hill - only just barely in control. 

The little red car pulled up in front of Steinbeck's place. Kylen pulled up as close to the porch as she could, but it didn't really matter. McQueen could only move so fast with his cane - they would both be soaked by the time they made the porch. They tried to run, but after about six steps they gave up and just walked the rest of the way. 

Kylen reached for McQueen's arm as he started up the stairs. He shook her off. It was good-natured enough, but his intention was clear. 

"OK," she said and held her hands up in the time honored 'I surrender' gesture.

McQueen made it to the third step before he slipped. A rather unceremonious spill face down on the steps, barking both shins nastily as he hit. 

__

"Man, that left leg is going to have a spectacular bruise tomorrow," Kylen thought, but kept her tongue.

McQueen gave the offending stair a good whack and growled out his humiliation and frustration.

Kylen sat down next to him in the rain. _"Amy, Hammerheads and now his leg - How many disappointments?" _ She tried to offer him hope. "Nathan told me that he pilots other planes. The Izzy? You'll be able to still do that won't you?" She sounded ridiculous even to herself and was instantly sorry that she had said it.

"The are only two types of aircraft, Kylen. Fighters and targets," he grumbled still belly down. He did not look at her. 

Kylen looked up into the rain, letting it sting her face. Her attempt to lighten his spirits had fallen flat. _"I'm beyond my depth here." _ She turned to look down at his back and finally patted his shoulder saying: "Perhaps someday it will be pleasant to remember even this." 

McQueen had no idea what she meant. _"Is she being optimistic or pessimistic?" _he wondered. McQueen slowly rolled unto his side and leaned on one elbow to look at her. 

"Job, huh?" he asked her.

"Answered and blessed, McQueen. Answered and blessed," she replied. Kylen smiled and helped him to his feet and into the house. A fire and a brandy seemed just about perfect.

End Chapter Twenty-one


	22. Santayana

Chapter Twenty-two - Santayana

__

"This is a bad idea. This is a very bad idea." T.C. McQueen sat stoically in the front seat of Dale Steinbeck's car. He stared fixedly through the windshield. It was raining softly, but the weather was supposed to clear up. Like so many things having to do with Kylen, this escapade had begun innocently enough. McQueen remembered the conversation. It had taken place during the Sunday brunch Kylen had prepared for the residents of the Barn.

"You don't have to if you don't want to," she had said. "But you are invited to the farm for Thanksgiving. Dad would like you to come. I'd like you to come. All three of you."

Amy - the ever polite and well bred - Amy had then said something about it being a private and family time. McQueen had almost felt like kissing her for the first time in over four years. Almost. Kylen had finessed that argument neatly. Which was made worse by the fact that she didn't really understand that she was finessing him. "Are you kidding?" Kylen had said. "We always have guests. Somebody is always dragging someone home for Thanksgiving. It wouldn't be Thanksgiving without guests. The sleeping arrangements won't be deluxe, but there is more than enough room for you three. Won't you please come? Dale, it isn't a gourmet meal. Just the traditional dishes - peasant food - but we have a good time."

"Are you going to have candied yams with those little marshmallows?" Dale had asked.

"Yes," Kylen had answered, feeling almost ashamed. She was afraid that the dish would be too pedestrian for Dale's taste.

"Oh, I love that. Did you know that Marcelo now offers that at 'Lion D'or' for Thanksgiving? Ah, tradition is a wonderful thing. We'll come." He had said, deciding for all of them. It had delighted Amy and irritated McQueen.

Any excuses or refusals that McQueen could think of had sounded rude, even petulant - even to his own ears, so they had all remained unsaid. So now he found himself riding towards the big Celina Family Thanksgiving. _"I'm the someone Kylen found to 'drag' home. Look Daddy, look what the cat dragged in. Well, Kylen is going to get the prize. A medical genius, an exiled Main Line Ice Queen, and the Gimp. There is a fairy tale in there somewhere."_

From her vantage point in the back seat, Amy watched McQueen clenching his jaw. This whole trip had made him very edgy, and she wasn't really sure why. It was an old pattern. He usually created more questions than answers in her life. Ty was an easier man to deal with when around Kylen. Dale had been right about that. It was almost as if Kylen made a bridge between him and other people. Having someone around with shared experiences did make a difference to Ty. 

"Ty, you look as if you are going to the dentist. This isn't your first family Thanksgiving. Relax," she gently chided.

They were true statements. Ty hated going to the dentist, and he had, indeed, spent Thanksgiving with friends in their homes. But they had been small gatherings; just four to six people, all of whom he knew. Bring a bottle of wine, watch the game with squadmates, eat dinner, then leave when people start to fall asleep on the couch. He had never been expected to spend the night. He would loose a day and a half, if not two days of rehab and conditioning. It was a profligate waste of time. And Kylen had said something about expecting around twenty people. "_It had better be a damn big house. I am not going to sleep on the floor, in front of any fireplace 'en famille'."_

Steinbeck only partially guessed the reason for McQueen's tension. "Don't worry Tyrus, you can always just get lost in the crowd."

McQueen snorted and thought: "_Yea, right. A crippled Marine Tank - Oh, I'll blend right into the background for sure."_

Even though the dinner was planned for the evening - some people were going to be late. (_"Thank your lucky stars, McQueen."_) Dale had insisted that they hit the road early. In McQueen's estimation Dale was far too concerned with other peoples lives. Steinbeck had said that he had never 'experienced' a family like Kylen's; he, having been reared, like Amy, in a household that was cold and remote. Holidays had been pieces of theater - very formal dinners with servants. A household full of real people like Kylen was too fascinating a prospect. No, they would arrive early, as invited, to fully soak in the whole atmosphere.

They pulled into Ridge Farm at a little before noon. A full six hours before dinner was planned and McQueen didn't hold out any hope that they would even sit down before eight. There were already five cars in the yard. _"It has to be absolute chaos inside that house," _he thought.

Kylen had directed them to come to the kitchen door rather than the front. "No one will hear you if you go there. After the crash on Tellus, Emrys disconnected the wires."

Dale jumped out of the car ready to begin. He bounded to the door on his long legs. Kylen was already there and met him with a hug. Amy was next into her embrace. Dale bounced back to the car to retrieve their bags. He was rubbing his hands together in obvious delight. "It smells fabulous," he exclaimed as he passed McQueen who was just half way up the walk. Kylen met McQueen on the walkway. She was able to gauge his thoughts with a cursory look. He wasn't happy to be there and Kylen could guess why. She smiled warmly and took his arm to assist him the rest of the way. 

"Courage," she whispered as she ushered him into the house.

"Where are you stashing us?" Dale followed a few seconds behind.

"Just leave your bags there for now," Kylen said. "Let me introduce you to the current players in house." They had walked through the entry area which was filled with coats and boots and were now standing in the sizable kitchen which had two islands and an enormous bay window occupied by an old circular table. The house had been added to over the years and to the right there was what is frequently called a Keeping Room - A large sitting area with a fireplace divided from the kitchen by a counter. It was obvious that preparations were underway for a huge meal. The whole house smelled like apple pie.

"These are my sisters," she said. "The mother-to-be is Aislen. She is five years older than I am and this is her first baby, so remember everything you may have heard about pregnant women."

"Be Quiet, Mouse," the elder sister cracked back as she shook hands with the visitors and took over the introductions. "This is Bridgid - Bridee to the tribe." Aislen pushed the youngest member of the household forward. The thirteen-year-old looked remarkably like Kylen but with brown hair. She was already as tall as her sister and still had that coltish look signaling that she would probably grow taller still. "And that is Rebecca, Connor's wife." Rebecca waved from her place at the baking island. Her hands were covered in flour.

Kylen took over again. These were, after all, her guests and Aislen had a tendency to try and run things. Aislen's family nickname was 'The Judge.' "Don't take off your coats yet, Dad and the guys are out back arguing over the birds."

"Out back?" Amy questioned.

"Smoked turkey," the Celina Quartet said in unison.

"God is in His heaven and all is right with the world," Dale said. "Lead the way, by all means."

Kylen lead the way through the keeping room and out a door into the backyard. Eight men were standing around three smokers discussing the situation before them. 

Frank Celina stepped forward, his hand outstretched. "I'm Frank and I know who you are already. Amy, Dr. Steinbeck, ('Call me Dale, please.'), and Colonel McQueen. Kylen described you all very well. I'm so pleased that you could come." The Celina men stepped forward one by one to introduce themselves. Connor, Ewan, and Benjamin McCoy, Aislen's husband. Allston (McQueen had a vision of Kylen kicking this gangly seventeen-year-old into the wall), Emrys and then there were two of Emrys' fraternity brothers James and David, who lived out of state and hadn't been able to get travel vouchers. 

"Oh my, have you ever thought of wearing nametags?" Amy joked. "Please forgive me, but I may not keep you all straight to begin with."

"It's a test." One of them joked back. Amy had no idea which one had spoken.

Frank Celina spoke again. "Christian, our eldest will be here soon with his family and Eithne. They are coming from Boston. Eithne is dancing in The Nutcracker tomorrow night. She had a rehearsal this morning."

"I thought she was only seventeen, Allston's twin," said Dale.

"She is," Allston spoke up. "She's on scholarship to the School for the Arts in Boston. She is a wicked dancer." He was obviously very proud of his sister.

"Watch out Colonel. She is a redhead and all that that implies," said Connor. "Due to the War, this is the last production by Boston City Ballet until further notice. She is taking it all very personally. The Chigs have conspired to ruin her promising career, you know." The brothers all rolled their eyes. " If you think that 'The Mouse' is a handful, wait until you get a load of 'Butch.'

"Mouse and Butch?" Amy questioned.

"Nicknames. I'm 'Mouse' and Eithne is 'Butch'," Kylen answered. "It gets really confusing. Ignore them." 

McQueen felt vaguely sick to his stomach. _"This is way too much Americana for me."_

*************

The Celina sisters had tried unsuccessfully to clear people out of the kitchen proper by placing bowls of munchies, cheese and veggie trays, crab dip and fruit on the counter in the keeping room. They had only achieved moderate success. As all the Celina's knew and as Steinbeck explained to McQueen: "The best part of parties always happen in the kitchen. That's where you get the best food and the best gossip."

McQueen sat off to the side at the table for about a half an hour while Amy tried to help with baking pies and Dale traveled back and forth between the kitchen and the turkey smoking in the backyard. Sure enough, there was a steady stream of people coming through the kitchen. All tasting the food, telling a story and frequently cracking jokes. Almost everyone floated over and lit briefly at the table to speak to the mysterious and commanding Colonel who had become so important to Kylen. They were courteous and friendly - most asked about his health and rehabilitation. The game was on in the keeping room but Allston had set up a mini-screen (sound off) on the kitchen table so that no one need miss a play.

The sisters all accepted this behavior. As long as no one got in their way, they seemed put up with almost any interruption. Amy was unused to this type of activity and camaraderie but was making a game attempt to fit in and seemed, to both Dale and McQueen, to be enjoying herself. McQueen crossed to the counter to get himself more coffee. Aislen suddenly leaned back against one of the islands and smiling grabbed Bridee's hand and pressed it against her stomach. 

"There," she whispered.

"OOOOh," Bridee whispered and before he could react Bridee had grabbed McQueen's hand and pressed it against Aislen's stomach. He snatched the hand away as if he had touched something hot. _"Not this. Not in front of Amy,"_ he thought. McQueen had been invited more than once to touch the stomach of a pregnant woman. He had always declined. At first it had been discomfort with touching people and basic disinterest, and then it had been due to his own shyness, then his own sense of loss. But this time Aislen, smiling that secret smile of pregnant women, gently took his hand back before he could protest, placing it 'just so' on her belly.

"It's OK. Just think of me as a little Buddha. Rub the belly for luck," she joked. "There... There. Did you feel that?"

McQueen didn't realize it but his face took on the expression universal to all men through the millennia. The expression of wonderment and total incomprehension. The expression that is only seen when a man touches life within another person's body. All the women shared the look of secret power known only to women - be they mothers or no - and smiled kindly.

"Oh, may I please?" Dale piped in and the women all laughed. McQueen wasn't quite sure why.

*************

Christian arrived; his wife, Abby, their fourteen-month-old daughter, Karin, and his younger sister, Eithne were trailing in his wake. The entire family was now home.

"It's about time," came up from a chorus of voices in the kitchen/keeping room. McQueen wasn't sure who all had spoken. The addition of four new people had once again stirred the pot and what had seemed to him to be only barely controlled chaos spilled over into a storm of activity; hugs, thumping on the back and multiple conversations. People passed the toddler around like an object d'art to be admired. Jokes, endearments and insults tumbling over one another. What McQueen particularly noticed was the manner in which Kylen and Christian enfolded each other. They did not let go and Christian had to greet his remaining siblings with one arm while he held onto Kylen. Christian had clearly always been her protector.

McQueen noted, as well, how Eithne moved about the room. _"A red head and all that that implies," _he thought. Only seventeen, but clearly already a force to be reckoned with. The air seemed to crackle and spark around her. She was tiny - the exact opposite of her easygoing twin, Allston, who had scooped her up into his arms. Eithne was almost impossibly feminine and delicate. The dancer. The ballerina. Calling her 'Butch' was undoubtedly the family way of keeping her grounded. But the love and affection - the knowledge and appreciation of each other was obvious. 

__

"Hawkes would be poleaxed. He would follow her around like a puppy dog," McQueen thought. McQueen had surprised himself with that idea. He looked around the room and imagined The Wildcards moving in and out of the crowd. Who would align with whom? What they would talk about. He imagined hearing Glen Ross' laugh. He suddenly felt very alone in the room.

McQueen looked up to see Kylen standing before him with Christian on her arm.

"Colonel McQueen, this is Christian. Christian, Colonel McQueen."

Christian gave McQueen a sturdy handshake. "Thank you Colonel, Thank you for coming." The younger man's strong emotional reaction to having Kylen home was obvious. McQueen was becoming uncomfortable. 

Like his sister, Christian, could sense the Marine's discomfort. And, like Kylen, he chose to handle the situation with humor.

"You know, people were laying bets whether or not you would show." Christian said. 

"Why wouldn't I?" McQueen asked shooting Kylen a 'you got me into this' look. _"I can give you at least three or four reasons. Hope you didn't bet against it, Chris, my boy. Up until 0700 this morning you would have been right. What have you told them all, Kylen?"_

"Because she is such a pain in the neck and just the tip of the iceberg," Christian ribbed his sister.

"She is at that," McQueen agreed and Kylen knew that somehow, and for reasons she didn't understand, she was in hot water.

"So, tell me," Christian said, warming to Colonel McQueen. "Has she given you a nickname yet? That is 'The Mouse's' job if I'm not around."

"Since when?" Kylen asked indignantly. "And no, I haven't given Colonel McQueen a nickname." She looked at McQueen. It was a patent lie. She was getting good at that. But he understood and shared her desire to keep her name for him private.

"Don't concern yourself, Colonel, someone will name you before you leave. If not to your face - then behind your back. We are an irreverent bunch," Christian said and Kylen slugged his arm.

"What do they call you, Christian?" McQueen asked conversationally.

"Oh, I don't have a nickname I'm called 'Christian.' To be said in reverential tones like one would say 'Your Excellency'," he said breezily. The strong emotions had been reined back in, much to everyone's relief.

"Oh, brother," groaned Kylen. "Get your wife and kid settled in 'Your Excellency'." She followed her brother as he turned to attend to things. 

McQueen decided that Glen Ross would hang out with Christian and Frank.

Dale Steinbeck appeared at McQueen's side and gestured around the room. "This, Ty," he whispered into McQueen's ear. "This is the real thing. The family is one of nature's masterpieces."

*************

The pies were now in the oven and the sisters had moved on to preparing the rest of the meal. 

"Who is going to teach me how to do the yams with the little marshmallows?" Dale asked.

"Well, I'm supposed to make that," said Abby obviously a little unsure - not understanding what was going on. 

__

"That's OK, Kid," McQueen thought from his hideaway at the table. _"Neither do I."_

"This is Dr. Steinbeck," Kylen interjected. ('Call me Dale.') "This is Abby, wife to 'His Excellency' Christian, mother to the marvelous Karin, and a wonderful musician and teacher in her own right. Dale wants to learn how to do the marshmallow thing, Abby."

"Well, I put apples and walnuts in mine," Abby said.

"All the better, my dear. All the better," Dale gloated. "Just wait 'til I tell Marcelo."

************

"Hey Christian," someone called. "Nice weather."

"We don't control the weather...." Christian called out and then lifted his arms as if directing an orchestra.

"We moderate it" chanted at least six people, including Kylen.

People then began to call out what were obviously oft-repeated phrases in the household. "Average monthly rainfall has to be maintained" - "The Golden Mean" - "New England still has to be New England" - "If you don't like snow move to Bermuda" (which seemed to be a particular group favorite) - "Storms are how the earth cleanses itself." 

McQueen was initially shocked by this seemingly disrespectful outburst. Even Frank had joined in. But it was immediately followed by people thumping Christian on the back or kissing him on the cheek. Christian was obviously a Climate Engineer. And once again the entire family had shared the experience. McQueen then had another thought. _"Christian has a job in a protected class and a good deferment."_

End Chapter Twenty-two


	23. Fulghum

Chapter Twenty-three - Fulghum

McQueen was half listening to a conversation - in French - between Eithne, Amy and Dale. Eithne was showing off a little, and Amy and Dale were enjoying the exercise of speaking the language. They were talking about the ballet company.

McQueen had the classic InVitro capacity for languages, the benefit of artificial stimulation of the brain's language center during gestation. The IVA had learned that you couldn't have a bunch of eighteen-year-olds stumbling around with no ability to speak or to understand. InVitros had to have incredibly accelerated language skills. McQueen could read, write, think and even dream in Spanish - thanks to duty in South America. He could interrogate someone in Hindi and Mandarin, which he could also read and write. But he had to translate those two languages in his mind. He studied Japanese as a hobby - the result of his interest in Samurai, and had recently picked up some conversational Finnish. He had enjoyed the company of the Suomalainen on the Saratoga. McQueen's French, however, was really the patois of the islands. Duty in Haiti had brought with it the ability to speak the patois and understand French which he could read but had difficulty writing.

Dale noted that McQueen was tuned into their exchange and suggested: "Let's join the solitary McQueen. He is sitting alone where the mermaids sit."

"Oh, I love that story," Eithne beamed.

McQueen didn't know the story, but they joined him nevertheless.

*************** 

Emrys and his two buddies had been tagged teamed by Connor and Ewan for turkey duty. They grabbed a handful of food and something to drink. Emrys (never called Em) carried the unlikely family sobriquet of 'Push.' He was, in fact, the sweetest and most biddable of all the Celina offspring. He was premed and Kylen hoped that she could hook him up with Dale for a summer job.

The three boys approached Colonel McQueen and sat at the table. "Excuse, us, Colonel, but may we ask you a few questions?"

"You're Emrys, right? Neil West's friend?" McQueen asked.

"Yes." Kylen's brother answered.

McQueen could tell that Neil's friend and the Frat Boys were more than a little scared of him. The draft lottery was going to be reinstated in January. _"Well, they have already had one friend die, and their butts are going to be on the line first. I'm probably second only to a drill instructor in their worst nightmare."_

"What is your question?"

"There have been some pretty crazy stories about the aliens, Sir, and we wondered just what was the truth."

"Which stories?"

"Well, that they can regenerate limbs. That they can reproduce by dividing like a single cell animal. That they can teleport." The boys rattled off their questions.

"To answer in order: No. Nobody knows their life cycle, or if they do it is classified. And the last bit is pure horsesh.... Crap," McQueen quickly amended.

"Oh my, my, Cap'in Butler, how you do talk." Eithne piped in with a devastating saccharine southern belle accent.

One of the older twins (McQueen was unsure which one) walked by and gave her an unceremonious smack on her butt.

"Watch yourself, Butch." 

"Look who's talking," she shot back then turned to McQueen. "Doctor Steinbeck sent this over for you." She placed a glass of wine in front of McQueen and drifted back to the center of activity.

McQueen took a healthy drag of the Chardonnay wishing, instead, for a good single malt. Hell, even a bad one.

*************

Frank Celina, Dale Steinbeck, Christian and the Colonel were sitting in the living room. It was now 1530, and the men all had a glass of wine. Karin was curled up in her grandfather's lap. She was fascinated by the almost startling blueness of McQueen's eyes, his deep voice, and the silver birds on the shoulders of his sweater. Ewan had been called inside to join the conversation. He had just finished up his Masters degree in agriculture and would one day take over the farm. The men were discussing Christian's research and the possibilities of using weather as a weapon - should the need arise. It was a concept that horrified all of them. McQueen included. If such a thing could be done, it would be scorched earth. It would spell the end of everything they understood. 

All of them were casting about for a new topic of conversation when Kylen checked in. She wanted to make sure that her guests were comfortable and well looked after. She noted that Colonel McQueen showed a distinct preference for Rebecca's crab dip with garlic toast. She asked Bridee to bring him another plate of that and a few veggies, plus something for Dad, Dr. Steinbeck, and her brothers. Bridee returned in moments with plates full of finger food. 

As Bridee placed the plate in front of the Colonel she said very softly, but politely: "Be careful, Sir. Don't make the rookie error." 

"What?" McQueen asked, incredulous at her precocity.

Ewan couldn't help himself. Try as he might, he had to chuckle to himself. "I think what she is trying to say, Colonel, is that you may want to slow down on the appetizers. You don't want to be too full before dinner. Pacing is everything. Overeating this early is a rookie mistake. Don't worry, we've all done it."

McQueen had the uncomfortable and correct realization that to Kylen's brothers and sisters he would now, forever, be known as "The Rookie." He looked up to see that both Frank and Dale were suppressing their amusement at the nerve of the thirteen-year-old girl. She hadn't been giving him lip. In fact, Bridee had been the definition of polite. She had just tried to offer considered advice. McQueen groaned to himself - "The Rookie" it was.

****************

Aislen was standing at the sink, looking as if she would cry. "I just can't face it." 

"What, honey?" Abby asked with genuine concern.

"I just can't bring myself to do it. It's just too big a job."

"What?" Amy asked.

"To peel these potatoes."

McQueen was passing through the kitchen. Stretching his legs, using his cane, but walking solo. He felt that he should offer to help, but it was a promise he had made to himself when he had become an officer. _"I'll never peel potatoes again - not even if I'm starving. If I'm starving, I'll eat the peels"_

"Excuse me - but there are three Frat boys out there watching T.V.," he suggested.

"Oh, I knew that I liked you - The first time I saw you - I knew it," Aislen said as she waddled over to McQueen. She placed her hands on his cheeks, pulled his head down to her, and kissed the top of his head. McQueen was absolutely frozen to the spot. "Besides being fun to look at and incredibly smart, you are the only person around here that I can beat in a foot race," she said and turned back. Halfway to the sink she called out. "Push, James, David ... drag it in here. We have something for you."

Aislen looked back at McQueen and gave him a brilliant smile.

**************

Benjamin McCoy approached McQueen and reintroduced himself. Aislen's husband had a question for the grounded pilot concerning the escape velocity and insertion angle of Hammerheads. McQueen was floored. He had been starving for this type of conversation. He and Ben spent a good fifteen minutes talking about the fighter before McQueen thought to ask exactly what it was that the guy did anyway.

Benjamin and Aislen now lived in Houston. This was the last trip before the baby. He was now with NASA. But he used to work for Aerotech as part of the Colony program design and ground crew. Immediately after the crash Aerotech had started downsizing the program. He had been very lucky. The company bought out his contract - paid him off five years in full - and even paved his way with NASA. Ben had greased the skids for Kylen and Nathan to get applications for the Colonial Program.

McQueen was shocked. Ben must have been in a technical job classification to be out of the loop on the Chigs. _"Aerotech had been clever to buy him out. Buy off the concerned family members before they start asking too many questions. Remove him so he couldn't be tempted to go digging for information." _Another thought struck him. McQueen wondered how many employees of the Colony program had met with untimely and tragic deaths in the last eighteen months. Aislen and Ben may have been far more fortunate than they realized.

McQueen also noted that everyone called it 'the crash.' He had heard Kylen, herself, use the term. People liked to frame things in more palatable terms. Terms they could understand. A comfort level. But the word made it sound to McQueen like Kylen had been riding around and had dented the fender on Daddy's car. _"Face the Music. Call it what it was, people. The attack or the slaughter or, my personal favorite, a damn blood-bath."_

**************

Emrys and his buddies had taken over turkey detail. The pies were done. The potatoes were cooking on top of the stove; soon to be mashed (Dale had been transported with the prospect of having 'The Real Thing'). The vegetable dishes were ready for the oven or for steaming. The sisters were ready for a break. Christian, Connor and Ewan now descended on the kitchen. It was time for the Stuffing War. The 'Ritual Making of the Stuffing' had been an exclusively male responsibility for as long as anyone in the house could remember. About five years ago there had been a memorable argument between the older siblings. The traditional family vs. a new recipe. Frank had told them each to make a pan of whatever they wanted, and had left them to it. The 'Stuff-Off' had been the result. Each young man prepared his own recipe. It was a good-natured, but, nonetheless, hotly contested battle every year.

"Where are The Doc and The Rookie?" Ewan demanded. "We need some help in here."

The older trio, sitting in the living room, heard the call. Dale responded with obvious relish. Frank, thankfully placed a staying hand out to McQueen. "The boys and Dale can manage without us. I'd like to speak with you privately, if I may." McQueen nodded in agreement. He had a favor to ask of Frank Celina. The two men retired to Frank's study. Kylen knew that she was going to be the topic of conversation. It both comforted and irritated her to no end.

************

A half hour later when McQueen and Frank emerged from the office, and entered the kitchen they were greeted by the sight and sound of Dale, Kylen, Connor and Rebecca doing a strange little shuffling dance and singing: "I love coffee. I love tea. I love the Java Jive and it loves me." It was a slow, bluesy, sensuous rhythm. They were weaving in and out around each other - taking things in and out of the refrigerator - moving to and from the sink. It was a spontaneously choreographed performance. They were clearly enjoying themselves. Other people in the room were involved in their own pursuits and conversations, and didn't seem to even be aware. Amy and Abby were playing with Karin. The T.V. was still on. Christian and Ewan were lightheartedly bickering about the size of celery slices for stuffing. For McQueen, it was sensory overload.

__

"Civilians. Too undisciplined, I swear. How do they live?" McQueen thought.

"Ah, Ty," Steinbeck called out. "I was just thinking. We should add dancing to your program. Good for balance and timing. I don't know why I didn't think of it before."

McQueen and Amy spoke simultaneously: "I (he) don't (doesn't) dance." 

"That's a shame," Kylen said as she swayed her arms over her head. Clearly she loved it.

"Rebecca or Eithne can teach you," Connor offered as he put his wife into a dip.

"It's how I won the hand of my wife," Frank said, clapping his hand on McQueen's shoulder. Then the two turned toward the entry hall.

Kylen was instantly pulled out of her reverie. "Where are you going?"

"I'm taking the Colonel over to pay his respects to the Wests," her father explained.

"But Daddy, they really aren't happy with the Marine Corps right now. They are pretty bitter," Kylen was worried that they might insult the Colonel. "I'll come too," she asserted.

Nathan's first few letters had held references to McQueen that weren't very flattering, even though for over a year they had held nothing but admiration. Kylen was concerned that, in light of Neil's death, the Wests would only think of the unfavorable.

"No," her father and her Colonel forcefully responded together. 

"If you come they will want you to stay," Frank said. "I called to let them know we were coming. The sight of the uniform won't spook them."

"But..." Kylen started, but McQueen stopped her with a look.

"Kylen, I have to do this. I would expect all of my officers to do it. I would expect West to do it, and he would be right to expect me to. It's our responsibility. Our Duty," McQueen spoke gently.

Across the room Amy winced. If she never heard Ty use the word "Duty" again it would be too soon. _"God, I hate the Marine Corps myself," _she thought.

"So be it," Kylen said softly. She gave him the once over. "You look very impressive." She smiled and plucked an imaginary piece of lint from his shoulder. "There, ship shape and Bristol fashion." 

"Squared away," McQueen automatically corrected her.

"Squared away," she repeated. "See you soon." Then, raising her voice: " Dinner will be ready.... When?" she called over her shoulder.

"Ninety minutes. Two hours," Emrys called in from the television.

"Oh, I've got work to do. Bye." She kissed her Father on the cheek. "Thank you, Daddy."

End Chapter Twenty-three

Literary Giants M.Wheels


	24. Stevenson

Chapter Twenty-four - Stevenson

When the two men returned over an hour later, the table had been set and Dale was contentedly finishing up the gravy - sipping wine - and teaching several of the younger crowd the finer points. Bridee had made out place cards, and after consulting Emily Post and Aislen, had placed people around the table as she felt appropriate. Amy and Dale were to sit at her father's right; Kylen and The Colonel were to sit directly at her father's left. The rest of the family would be grouped according to age. What had once been 'The Kid's Table' was now pushed to the end of the main table. While not a formal dinner, everyone who had needed to had changed into something more appropriate to the occasion. There were no jeans at the Celina Thanksgiving table. McQueen's face was unreadable, but Kylen noted that her father appeared a little gray. She pulled him aside.

"How bad was it?" she asked.

"You don't want to know, Kylen." Frank told her. He shook his head. "Believe me. Oh, Boy, you don't want to know. But I will tell you this. I have never met a man with more personal dignity than Colonel McQueen. You are incredibly lucky to have him as a friend and mentor. I see why he is so important to you." Frank turned and entered his study where he stayed alone for a several minutes.

**************

Frank called the troops together. "I want to do something a bit different this year. Let's leave all the food in the kitchen for the moment - to keep warm. But please, everyone sit at the table for prayer." While everyone filed into the dining room to the table, which now stretched into the living room as well, Frank took the time to thank Bridee for her thoughtfulness. McQueen was impressed with the man's eye for detail.

Frank looked around the table. He had before him what no man of his years had the right to expect in this day and age. His entire family was before him. They were all together and all healthy. They had honored guests and friends at their table. No one could know when this would happen again. No one could know what the future would hold. But, come what may, he would never forget this day, or forget to give thanks to God for giving it to them all. 

Everyone joined hands and bowed their heads. McQueen, as was his habit, did the same as a gesture of respect to the host. Frank Celina began the prayer and McQueen felt a subtle move around the table. People had shifted in their seats slightly. They knew from the sound of their father's voice what McQueen did not. This was going to be one very long prayer.

Frank began with the expected Thanksgiving prayer, and offered the collective thanks and praise for Kylen's safe return. He offered thanks for the armed forces and the swift end to the war. He then gave thanks for those who had died and asked that their families find comfort. Again, not unexpected. He mentioned Nathan and all of the 5-8 by name, which moved McQueen unexpectedly. Frank Celina then did something unexpected. He sat in his chair, but mentally moved around the table starting on his right, giving thanks for an action or attribute of every person sitting at his table. He also asked a personal blessing for everyone present. 

He gave thanks, for Amy's generosity of heart, which she had shared with Kylen and asked that God would bless her with insight into her patient's needs. 

For Dale: Thanksgiving for his genius. Blessings that his good humor and joy of life would never falter.

For Christian: Thanks for his strength and leadership. Blessings for his research and hopes that he would look to God for guidance in managing Earth's resources.

For Abby: Thanks for her unfailing support of her husband and blessings for something just for herself so that she would not get lost in her husband and child.

For Karin: ... 

Frank moved around the table, even showing remarkable insight into Emrys' two young friends. McQueen found himself incredibly moved by this man's belief, which was so different from his own. Ty thought that he just might be beginning to see into, if not totally understand, Kylen's assertion. 'Answered and blessed.' 

Frank's mind had moved around the table, and was now envisioning Kylen, his lost child. Kylen knew that she was next on the list and held McQueen's hand so tightly that it was beginning to hurt him. McQueen hadn't thought her strong enough to exert that kind of power.

Frank gave thanks that God had given Kylen such determination and such a strong will - even though as she was growing up it had been a trial to her parents. He asked for mercy and blessing - that peace would return to her soul and victory to her spirit. 

He now envisioned Colonel T.C. McQueen. Frank Celina's voice, which had been able to speak with such strength and conviction began to crack as his feelings about McQueen, which were complex and fresh came to the front of his mind.

"Dear Lord, You know that the members of this household have fought against oppression and injustice as You have given us the understanding to do so. Today, Lord, we give thanks for the life and example of this man. No matter what people may have thought of as his purpose when he was formed - we give thanks for the forging of his character and Your purpose for his life. For certainly he has been a blessing to us and to those we love. We pray that he always find favor in Your sight. We ask Your blessing that his decisions and actions be wise. We ask Your mercy that this warrior may know the fulfillment of his dreams and someday live in peace. Amen."

"Amen" the table responded and the room was absolutely still for almost a minute.

McQueen still didn't believe that if there was a God that He would worry about T.C. McQueen. But he had long believed that a generous prayer is never presented in vain. As a man who had been blessed by some pretty powerful padres in his time.... It had been one of the most profound religious experiences of his life.

End Chapter Twenty-four

Literary Giants M.Wheels


	25. Dinesen

Chapter Twenty-five - Dinesen

The dinner itself was delicious and festive. Kylen handled it all pretty well. She only made one gaffe at dinner when she rather forcefully told Ewan to 'Shut up and pass the fucking gravy.' The family paused for a split second then gamely ignored the remark.

Abby had selected Mozart for the background music. McQueen was thankful that it wasn't one of the Russian composers. The family shared memories and stories of their childhood. Even Amy and Dale joined in and offered stories. McQueen did not. 

McQueen did have a favorite story from the evening, however. There was a particularly enlightening tale about Frank catching Kylen and Nathan and a group of their friends, who, as a result of a dare, were skinny skating. It was a side of Kylen that McQueen had not fully anticipated - A wild hair. A group of teenagers skating - stark naked - around the back pond in the middle of January. Evidently, Frank had discovered them before anyone sustained any permanent frostbite. The father had been somewhat limited in his meeting out of punishment. The dare had been the result of his own telling a tale of how he and his friends had gone skinny skating following a particularly vigorous pond hockey game. Anything to cool down - the breeze had been delicious and bracing. Sins of the fathers. The sheer foolishness of the escapade had achieved far more notice than the potential scandal of a half a dozen naked teenagers. But Kylen and Nathan had been grounded for a month.

Everyone was too full for dessert. McQueen had to admit that the little kid had been right. He had made the rookie mistake, and was now uncomfortably full. The clean up went quickly. There were many hands to pitch in and everyone seemed to know what needed to be done with little or no direction. They had all done this before. Shortly people were staking out their places to relax and many were on the verge of sleep. Someone had set up a jigsaw puzzle on a table to the side of the keeping room. Amy explained to McQueen that it was an activity people could enjoy while still engaging in conversation. One of the Frat Boys had turned the television back on - low volume. The adults were to have brandy with coffee in the living room. They would all probably have 'something sweet in an hour or so.' 

McQueen identified something that had been bothering him on and off for hours. A missing link. A hole. Another lost sheep. "Where is Martin?" he asked Kylen.

"With General Radford. Out West," she replied. "I did ask him."

The information filled in the blank, but did not particularly give McQueen any comfort.

Most of 'The Grown-ups' were making their way towards the living room for rest and conversation when a promotion for a movie was heard from the television. To show support for the war effort and to build patriotism, there had been a spate of jingoistic military movies produced. Not exactly typical holiday fare but nonetheless extremely popular. The promotion was for 'The Triumph of Dallas - The defeat of the Silicates.' Under the announcer's voice, AI chatter spewed from the speakers. Kylen froze, and before McQueen could reach out to stop her, she was running up the stairs. Aislen and Christian were, thankfully, the only other people to catch her reaction. McQueen burned them both with his look. 

"Go," he ordered to Christian. Neither he nor Aislen were in any shape to be running up the stairs, but they followed as best as they could. 

"She is going to try to get out of the house." McQueen called to Christian in a stage whisper - no need to get the whole house agitated. 

"Aislen, how?" Christian asked, his head appearing over the railing above McQueen and Aislen.

"Mom's rose trellis." Aislen urged. McQueen was glad that he had two thinking people with him.

Christian ran to the end of the hall were Kylen had opened a window. She had crawled out onto the roof of the keeping room and was trying to make her way across the slippery roof to the trellis. Christian clambered after her into the darkness.

"Kylen," he called. "Be careful. Kylen." 

Her eyes were wide in terror, Kylen wasn't about to stop. 

"Order her. Make it an order." McQueen called from his place at the top of the stairs.

"Kylen Alexa Celina - Stop!" Christian called. A light seemed to go on in Kylen's brain. She hesitated, slowed, but she did not stop.

McQueen and Aislen had reached the window. _"Will I spend my entire life chasing after West and Celina?"_ he thought. It was clear to him that Christian was unused to giving such orders, and even more unused to them being obeyed by his own daughter - let alone one of his sisters.

"Celina - NOW - SIT - NOW." McQueen ordered from the window. It was another familiar and more immediate voice of comfort. A voice of safety to her mind, and more importantly, it was a familiar order. Kylen sat immediately and burst into tears.

Christian moved slowly towards his little sister. As he got closer he crouched down low until he was kneeling beside her. "Kylen? ... Kylen?".... Mouse?" he said softly. 

"Christian?" she whispered. "Christian ... I kept waiting for you to come for me I waited for over a year for you to come for me Christian, I was so scared." Kylen looked up at him through her hair and slowly reached out to touch his cheek. "You are here," she whispered and smiled. She reached out with her other hand and cupped his face. "I missed you so much Christian."

Christian smiled and covered her hands.

Kylen threw her arms around her brother, who rocked her back and forth. 

McQueen exhaled deeply. He wasn't needed any longer. He turned from the window to join the crowd downstairs. The absence of so many people would create questions. Aislen stopped him mid turn. She reached out to touch his face. McQueen was horrified to realize that before he could stop himself, he had rather harshly grabbed her wrist to prevent her touch. It had been a reflex.

Aislen at once understood his reticence - touching someone's face could be an intensely personal, intimate gesture - but it was also an act of genuine affection and acceptance. She felt that it was a gift she could give him. She sweetly smiled and reached out her other hand, which she gently placed on McQueen's cheek. He accepted her touch.

"Stick her in some warm water," McQueen gruffly suggested. He let go of Aislen's arm, embarrassed.

"I see, you know my little sister," Aislen said with infinite patience and affection. "The cure for anything is warm water, huh?"

"'Salt water - sweat, tears, or the sea.' Isak Dinesen, I think," McQueen corrected quietly as he moved away from her.

"You do know my little sister," Aislen said knowingly.

McQueen turned and went down the hallway and the stairs.

Out on the roof, Kylen clung to Christian as he helped her to stand.

"I was so scared." She spoke into his shoulder. 

"I know, Mouse," he comforted. 

Kylen shook her head. "No. I meant just now. I thought that they had come for me again - had come for everyone. I'm sorry I messed things up." 

Christian could think of nothing to say, so he just held her tightly.

"I'm so tired of being afraid," Kylen looked up at him.

Aislen followed McQueen's advice and put her sister into a hot tub. Christian went downstairs, got himself and McQueen stiff drinks - and told anyone who asked that Kylen was, yet again, taking another bath and Aislen was with her doing the 'girl talk' thing. 

*************

The bath had been warm, fragrant, and therapeutic. Kylen was once again herself, and she and Aislen were talking while Kylen dressed in a Greenbrier sweatsuit. Aislen was at the window.

"Where is Colonel McQueen?" Kylen asked.

"Out back by the pond," Aislen answered. 

"Oh, checking out the scene of my crime?" Kylen asked.

"I think he needed to get away from all of us," Aislen said.

Kylen moved to the window and looked down at the pond, which was illuminated by a lamp on a tall pole. McQueen was sitting on the bench just visible in the shadows.

"He seems so alone - more than just being by himself," Aislen remarked.

"Hmmmm," Kylen agreed.

"Show me a hero and I'll write you a tragedy," Aislen murmured.

"Not if I can help it," Kylen said softly, matching her sister's volume.

"You don't think he has read either of the Brontes' do you?" Aislen asked still looking down at McQueen.

"That was Fitzgerald not Bronte, Aislen, and I really doubt it. I hope not. I think that he already has a surprisingly romantic view of his place in the cosmos." Kylen considered the man sitting in the shadows. "He does kind of put you in mind of Rochester down there doesn't he?" She chuckled to herself, imagining his reaction to the image. And thankful that the Bronte sisters seemed like a long shot at best. "Has he read them? Oh, I should think not. He would think them ridiculous. He is a very practical man."

"Should I send someone out there to fetch him?" Aislen asked.

"He's a big boy, Aislen. He can find his way home after dark."

End Chapter Twenty-five

Literary Giants M.Wheels


	26. Saint-Exupery

Chapter Twenty-six - Saint-Exupery

The sleeping arrangements were organized in less than three minutes. McQueen was beginning to see a pattern in the household. There always seemed to be chaos - barely controlled, but controlled nonetheless. If the chaos could be ratcheted down a bit more, as much as he hated to admit, it was a pretty well run unit that vaguely reminded him of the Corps - on a bad day.

There were six bedrooms in the old farmhouse. Plus one third of the attic was taken up with a dormitory space known as The Fort. The family spread itself around as it suited them. Amy was to share what was now Kylen's room. Dale had been offered and had accepted a tiny room next to the master bedroom that had, for years, been the nursery. Frank's study on the ground floor had been reserved for McQueen. 

Frank gestured McQueen into the chair next to the fireplace. He handed the Colonel a glass of scotch and three slim volumes in a slipcase that was engraved 'Antoine De Saint-Exupery.'

"I had to dig around for a while in the attic to find these. I remembered reading them years ago. They were my father's. The author was a pilot in France during World War II. I gather that he is a national hero. Anyway, I thought - we thought - you might enjoy them," Kylen's father said. "I'd like for you to have them, Colonel, as a gift from our family," he said.

Christian appeared at his father's side as McQueen gently pulled one of the books from the case and opened the cover. This was a special edition printed to celebrate the one hundredth anniversary of the birth of Saint-Exupery. The book he had opened was 'Night Flight.' There was an inscription. 

"Marcus Celina, Merry Christmas 2000, Love Mom and Dad.

"Oh, no ... These are family heirlooms. Thank you, but these should go to one of your children." McQueen protested, and handed the small book to Christian.

Frank smiled. He had anticipated the protest. 

Christian returned the book to McQueen. "Think of them as an early Christmas present. We can cross you off the list now. You'll be doing us a favor," he jested then became more grave. "They are family heirlooms - and that is precisely why we want you to have them, Colonel."

Kylen popped into the conversation just in time to see McQueen blush and manage a choked 'Thank you' as he shook hands with Frank and Christian.

"Which books?" she asked, switching the atmosphere of the conversation. " Ah, Saint Ex." She said using a shortened version of the author's name - like he was an old friend. "The pilot books?"

McQueen nodded.

"Good choice," she congratulated her father and brother, and was off again. McQueen realized that the gift of the books and their selection had been a topic of discussion.

Kylen left the room deeply distressed - a different woman. She began to search throughout the house; a search bordering on the frantic - even enlisting Ewan and Eithne to help. There was a book they had to find and bring to her immediately. The offending book was finally found on Bridee's shelf. Kylen called Dale into a corner and showed him the little book.

"Do you have this book in your library?" she asked, her tone almost accusatory. "At the clinic or at The Barn?"

"Ah, I haven't seen this in years. 'The Little Prince.' What a charming book, Kylen. Yes, I think I have a copy at home, in French."

"Then find it as soon as you get home. Promise me. Hide it. Burn it. Lock it away someplace. At least until Colonel McQueen leaves. Promise me."

"Why, Sweetheart?"

"He is in there right now reading Saint-Exupery. The flying books. The ones about World War II. If he likes them - which we both know he will - you think he won't look for other books? This is 'The Little Prince,' " Kylen said with emphasis. "The story of a mysterious little blue eyed boy with curly blonde hair and dignified bearing, who sacrifices himself for the little planet he loves - out of despair."

"For his rose in the bell jar and for his sheep," Dale said leafing through the book remembering the story. He finally caught on. The Little Prince asked questions but never answered them. The little Prince lived out among the stars. And The Little Prince had allowed the snake to strike. Kylen wanted to hide this story of self-sacrifice from a blue eyed man with graying but once blonde wavy hair and dignified bearing, who was perfectly capable of performing such an act. It amused and touched Dale. It also gave him the shivers. "I'll do it. I promise."

People began to slowly peel off for the night. Most would be leaving after breakfast or in the afternoon. About half were going to Boston to attend Eithne's opening night. Those who were staying at home to take care of the farm would attend closing night, which would be December 30th. Eithne's run in the Nutcracker would be bracketed by family celebrations and the two biggest nights would have family in the audience to see her triumph as she was partnered in the Spanish Variations and danced in the corps de ballet. Dale had already called to get tickets. McQueen had quietly declined to go and was now almost a bit sorry that he had. Almost. It was easy to get swept away by the Celinas, but he had trouble picturing himself at a matinee of the Nutcracker. Let Amy and Dale go. It meant an entire day he would have to himself.

McQueen changed into a sweatsuit and was soon alone in the keeping room in front of the fire with a glass of good single malt and a reclining chair. All in all a good place to be. McQueen felt emotionally wrung out. The Celina tribe was a force of nature and the day had been exhausting. The quiet was wonderful. The solitude - satisfying. He really began to enjoy the books. The translations were excellent. McQueen felt the camaraderie of a fellow pilot and a poet warrior. He was captivated by the fact that the effect of flying was so unchanged. That being a pilot and the challenges and joys it brought was much the same a hundred and twenty years ago. He would have had things to say to Antoine De Saint-Exupery. And things to ask.

************* 

McQueen had fallen asleep in the chair with the light on. It was about 0230 when he heard her steps. He smiled to himself. He had recognized Kylen's footsteps even barefooted. _"Getting the skills back." _ McQueen had half expected her. He opened his eyes. She didn't seem the least bit surprised to see him there.

"Nightmare?" he asked her.

"I don't think so. I don't remember one. I often wake up in the middle of the night. I fall asleep down here." Kylen began to tend the fire, bringing the embers back into life. "So, was it as bad as you thought?" she asked without looking at him. "You should have seen the look on your face when you got here." 

McQueen was tempted to say 'worse', but it wasn't the truth. "No, it wasn't too bad." But he thought: _"But once is enough. I feel like I've been rode hard and put up wet."_

"What about Nathan's parents? Dad was pretty upset," Kylen asked.

"They are grieving and they are angry. They think that I have a hold over their eldest son and I was a convenient target. Put it together yourself. I don't want to discuss it," he warned.

"Well, you do have an influence over him, you know. And it is a good influence, I think," she then let the matter drop. "Can I get you anything?"

"I'll take more ice, thanks." McQueen held his glass out to her.

Kylen eyed the decanter. There was less there than she recalled. "Are you sure?"

"I'm not driving anywhere tonight," he teased her and she took the glass from him. Kylen momentarily returned with ice and two quilts she had conjured up in her brief absence.

"That's where I sleep," she said nodding at his chair. 

"Not tonight," he quipped, startling himself with his unguarded and flip response. McQueen gestured to the couch. "There you go," he said as he poured more scotch.

Kylen tossed a quilt into his lap and immediately curled up on the couch with the other. McQueen turned off the light and drank his scotch by the light of the fire. He watched her fall asleep.

***********

Frank, Connor and Christian entered the kitchen at approximately 0500. The 'Mamas' would be in the barn, waiting to be milked. Their internal clocks calling them in from the field. The brothers were going to take care of that for their father and Ewan. It was a family tradition. When you came home, you took over morning milking - so Dad could sleep in. Only he never did. He was like McQueen - an infallible internal clock - up for the milking no matter how late he had stayed up the night before.

Kylen was still sound asleep on the couch in the adjacent keeping room. McQueen was at the far end of the kitchen area making coffee.

"I find her down here almost every morning," Frank spoke softly and rather sadly to the other three men.

"She is comfortable down here," McQueen offered. It seemed like it should be enough of an explanation for anyone.

"I would have thought her old room...with all her things..." Frank trailed off.

McQueen gave Christian an appraising look. _"Does he, at least, get it now?"_ he wondered.

"It's the doors isn't it? More routes of escape." Christian asked the Colonel softly - for the man's ears only.

__

"Bingo," thought McQueen as he nodded 'yes' as he sipped his coffee.

Christian poured the coffee, and Connor grabbed two slices of pie, handing one to his brother on a paper towel. They wolfed down the pie, gulped their coffee and went to the entry hall to put on their boots and coats for the barn. In moments they were singing:

"There's a bright golden haze on the meadow. Yes, a bright golden haze on the meadow. The corn is as high as an elephant's eye and it looks like it's rising straight up to the sky. Oh what a beautiful morning. Oh what a beautiful day," - a joke for their Dad to cheer him up.

McQueen shot a look towards Kylen who had jerked awake. He could her eyes glistening. He was instantly furious, a white-hot fury. He suddenly didn't care whose house it was. McQueen turned on the brothers. 

"What in the hell is your problem?" he growled at parade ground volume. They were instantly silent. Frank was shocked and the tears spilled onto Kylen's cheeks.

"It's OK, Colonel," she mumbled.

"It is not OK, Kylen. I don't care who they are. It is NOT OK." he insisted.

"They don't know. I didn't tell them," she said apologetically.

"Why not," McQueen demanded. "What in the hell is your problem?" he repeated to her in a much different and softer tone.

"I ... I just couldn't," she said. Kylen hadn't had any concept of how to tell them. She gave McQueen an anemic gesture, rose and left the room. A feeling of defeat was palpable in the air.

"Tell us what?" Frank demanded.

"Not all torture shows," McQueen spat and scanned their faces for understanding. In a far more conciliatory tone he continued. "The Silicates sang that song every morning. Incessantly. They taunted Kylen and the others with it. She told me that they took part of her childhood away." 

The family was dumfounded. "We had no idea. We would never..."

McQueen held up his hand to quiet them. " I know," he said wearily. "She knows." He was running out of explanation. "Just don't sing anything from OKLAHOMA," he added weakly. McQueen felt exposed by his own anger and outburst. _Nothing like fragging the Celina Kitchen first thing in the morning."_

Frank sensed the unease and put his strong hand on the Marine's shoulder. "Good man," he whispered.

It was not what McQueen had anticipated - but he realized it was what he should have expected. He adopted that particular and perfectly 'blank' expression common to most InVitros. The expression - or lack of expression - that gave no information. In this household, there were far too many different waves of emotion, buffeting from too many angles for his taste. _"Undisciplined."_ He nodded his acknowledgment and left the room as well. 

McQueen thought he would hide out in the study until the kitchen was again full of people. Dale had been right to a certain extent - when there was a crowd it was easier for McQueen to fade into the background. He lay down on the cot that had been set up for him the night before. He picked up 'Night Flight' again and began to read.

The French pilot from another war over a century earlier had written: "We don't ask to be eternal. What we ask is not to see acts and objects abruptly lose their meaning. The void surrounding us then suddenly yawns on every side."

Saint-Exupery understood only too well. _"Unbelievable."_ If the book had been a paperback of no real value - McQueen would have thrown it across the room.

End Chapter Twenty-six

Literary Giants M.Wheels


	27. Fuller

Chapter Twenty-seven - Fuller

Dale Steinbeck was sitting in his office reviewing the progress reports of several patients. He needed to compose his assessments prior to sending the reports on to the referring physicians, and now, in a growing number of his cases, the proper military authorities. Dale had not yet returned the fitness report on McQueen, Col. T.C. (821-36-97440), to the Marine Corps Office of Personnel. It wasn't complete. He still needed to complete the psychological evaluation. McQueen continued to politely, but steadfastly refuse to visit the psychologist. 

All was not sweetness and light at Dale Steinbeck's huge old Victorian. It seemed to Steinbeck that McQueen, while not precisely circling the drain, was growing ever more edgy and easily frustrated. The full weight of having no daily purpose outside of himself was hitting Ty hard. Steinbeck felt that he was running out of ways to break through the man's growing isolation and depression. _"Boredom is only rage spread thin," _Dale thought. McQueen withdrew from company. He would exercise; work out like a man possessed then retreat into silence. He often sat up late at night after the other two had gone to bed. He was up and dressed by 0430 every morning. 

Other than the fact that the man was profoundly sane and somewhat depressed, Dale simply did not know enough about InVitro psychology to really gauge McQueen's mental health. The Colonel showed no overt signs of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, which was - given what Steinbeck knew of McQueen's history - a remarkable testament to a stable individual. If only Kylen had not dropped her little bomb about McQueen having an intensely personal reason to resent having a leg based on AI technology. The torture. It was obvious and McQueen had yet to say word one. "_It must be a difficult way of life - to just be prepared to accept what comes along. How dreadful to always have to 'make the best' of things,"_ Steinbeck thought. Dale wondered exactly how much Kylen actually knew. He doubted that McQueen would make the whole truth a primary topic of conversation. 

Up until Thanksgiving, Kylen had been dividing her time almost equally between her home and the clinic. But she had now stayed at the farm for well over seven days. There had been Eithne's opening night, then Kylen had two sessions with her therapist and Howard wanted to review the contents of Kylen's now dog-eared little notebook. Plus, Christmas was coming. Dale thought that spending undivided time at the farm was probably a very healthy thing for Kylen. It meant that she was beginning to reassimilate into her family. But Steinbeck missed having her around, and he thought that Amy did as well. Ty, interestingly, never brought her up. Kylen was a bridge and she had added an air of unpredictability that had kept the other three on their toes. Not always easy to be around while she was working through her own emotional baggage, but on the whole a nice addition to the little menage they had established. A buffer and a sparkplug at the same time.

It had actually been Amy and not Ty who had spoken to Kylen the night before. Home was "OK." Amy, reading between the lines, had asked Kylen to visit. She had become fond of the young woman. Dale had been pleased, actually. McQueen had appeared noncommittal, which was not unusual. _"Well,"_ thought Steinbeck, _"something has to change soon. The psych eval has to be done before he can return to duty. Perhaps Kylen can talk him into it. Maybe she can shake things up."_

Dale became aware that he was no longer alone in the office and looked up to see his problem child, T.C. McQueen, standing in the doorway. McQueen pushed the envelope wherever and whenever he could, and Steinbeck realized that he would never learn the half of it. It had been one of the reasons that Dale has somewhat rushed "reupholstering the leg," as Kylen had so graphically described it. McQueen was a passable technician and an excellent mechanic, and Dale had begun to see signs that someone else had been tinkering with the merchandise. During the afternoons, McQueen was scheduled to work independently. Dale had no doubt that the man was working as hard as, and probably harder, than advised, but just exactly how he worked out was sometimes questionable, especially without Kylen to ride herd on him. At the moment it was a real effort for Steinbeck to not laugh openly at his patient. _"Tyrus, you are busted,"_ he thought. McQueen obviously hadn't looked in the mirror recently. There were a few small bits of dead leaves in the man's short hair. He had obviously taken a tumble during a walk outside, and Dale seriously doubted that he would see that on the man's exercise journal. _"Psychologist or not, I see that we have to have a discussion about attitude."_

"Is my fitness report done? Are you sending it in?" McQueen asked.

"As soon as it is finished, Ty," Dale said, gesturing at the pile of charts on his desk. McQueen was not Dale's only patient and really not his most challenging case medically or surgically, but the man had the most challenging personality to deal with. By far. _"Let's try this one more time with feeling,"_ he sighed to himself. Dale stood and came around the desk.

"Come with me, Ty." Dale passed his secretary as they headed for the door. "Please tell Amy that I took the Colonel over to Bucky's house." 

"Bucky?" McQueen questioned.

"Let's go, Marine. And get the mulch out of your hair before Amy sees it."

The two men piled into Dale's car. Not for the first time, McQueen had to admire Steinbeck's taste. The car was an imported European roadster. Powerful, black and fast. In minutes Dale parked the car by the edge of the road. They were almost at the top of the largest hill on the island. The ground started to slope away a few feet from the car. The view was impressive.

"Over there, behind those trees, is Bucky's house," Dale gestured.

"Who is Bucky?" McQueen asked again.

"Buckminster Fuller. Geodesic domes? His family used to live here. The house is now over a century old. Brilliant man. Creative thinker. One of my heroes." Dale got out of the car and came around to lean against the hood. "We are here to watch the sunset."

McQueen seriously doubted that statement but joined Dale, leaning against the car and looking out over the scenery to the ocean beyond.

"Do you know what Fuller said?" Steinbeck asked rhetorically. "Humanity is acquiring all the right technology for all the wrong reasons." He let that statement sink in. "I think that we need to talk some about technology, Ty."

McQueen remained silent at Dale's side. The sky began to change colors as the sun descended. The bottoms of the clouds took on hues of pink and mauve; their tops became gray. "You said something about technology, Doctor?" McQueen inquired of the lanky man at his side.

"Bucky said many things. Did you know that he was a poet as well?" Steinbeck asked, hoping to bring a casual tone to the conversation. McQueen was not taken in - Dale had brought him up here to say something specific. McQueen was not one to beat around bushes and, in his experience, most civilians wasted too much time dancing around the subject.

"Technology?" McQueen repeated.

"OK, Ty, I'll try and cut to the chase," Dale said. "Of all my current patients you are the person I expected to move alongside the technology. You of all people. You are a pilot and I expected that you would integrate the technology faster than anyone. But you haven't. Have you?"

"Integrate the technology?" McQueen asked, but he already had the feeling that he understood what Dale was getting at. It gave McQueen an involuntary shiver.

"I want to talk about your leg," Dale continued. McQueen's subtle reaction had answered the question. "You fight with it. Which surprises me to some extent, given your study of Eastern thought. Tao, Zen and such. Look, Ty, when you fly or drive or even fine tune equipment, I know that you have 'the touch.' That you understand the clay, so's to speak."

"I understand the clay?" McQueen could feel himself becoming inexplicably defensive - and he disliked the feeling.

"Let me give you an illustration," Steinbeck explained. "You have seen all the art and craft shops in town? Well, a good friend, Peter, owns one of them. I call him Peter the Potter. He has an incredible touch. Even working with porcelain. Oh, look at those colors. Spectacular for this time of year."

"Peter Potter," McQueen urged. Dale was getting off topic and talking like a civilian again.

"You're right, I digress. But it helps me to think," Dale admitted. McQueen had no concept of how a digression could actually help anyone focus their thoughts. Steinbeck went on.

"I was watching Peter throwing some terra cotta on the wheel with one of his summer students. The student's pots crumbled between his hands. Over and over again. Peter would give guidance but with no real progress. The student finally finished the lesson with a small pot. Thick walled and inelegant. When the student left I apologized, thinking that I had made the guy too nervous to throw well. Peter told me that it wasn't my presence, but the fact that the guy just didn't 'understand the clay.'"

Dale pointed out across the sky at a particularly luscious formation of clouds pink and golden in the twilight. The ocean had begun to turn metallic in the sunset. "You know what I love about this island? You can see the sunrise from our house and you can come to the other side and see the sunset. It's like we are our own country here. Our own little continent."

"Ty, you shouldn't still be tripping over the leg. Your reflex test was superior. Hell, all the tests were superior. But you still have problems. You fight the clay. You try to bend it to your will. I can see your whole body trying to shout it into submission. The prosthetic will respond eventually to your will, if that is the method you insist upon. But it will beat you over the head before it submits. You are making it harder than it has to be." Dale paused to enjoy the changing sky for a few moments. 

"Your nerves know what to do. As do your muscles. It's your head that has the problems," Dale asserted. "The Zen Archer, Ty. You can order the prosthetic all you want, but it will respond better and faster if you learn to let it become one with you. I know that you have reasons to hate this technology - reasons to reject it. I've seen the scars. But it will serve you. Finesse. A light touch. Like your Hammerhead or your cycle. Ease into it. Seduce it. Or rather, let it seduce you." Dale thought that Ty McQueen, while certainly not without experience, was probably not a particularly well versed student of seduction - either in seducing or being seduced - but it was the only analogy that came to mind. Ty McQueen lived a straightforward life. "Your troops will obey your orders because they are disciplined and loyal. But you know that if they admire and trust you personally they obey with greater enthusiasm. And when they know that you love and trust them ... Well, so much the better."

"You make it sound like this leg has a personality and a mind of its own." McQueen said.

"It doesn't. It only has what you give it - and you resent it," Dale told him.

"It is what it is." McQueen repeated Kylen's maxim.

"It is a way for you to fully enter into your life again, Ty."

The sun appeared to be entering the ocean. "You often think, don't you, while watching sunsets, that the ocean should boil and hiss when the sun touches it. But not this evening. Look at that water - it looks like the sun has melted steel. Like it is molten." Again he paused to take in the scene. When the sun was halfway down he spoke. 'When I think of a problem, I never think about beauty. I think of only how to solve the problem. But when I'm finished, if the solution isn't beautiful, I know it's wrong."

"Did Peter Potter say that too?" McQueen asked.

"No, Buckminster Fuller. Let's get back to the Barn. Kylen is coming." But neither moved until the sun had set.

End Chapter Twenty-seven

Literary Giants M.Wheels


	28. Twain

Chapter Twenty-eight - Mark Twain 

Kylen had been able to tease some travel vouchers out of Major Howard. She didn't know how many times she could go to that well, but her finances and ration coupons were still tied up in red tape. She wanted to tell McQueen about her impending career change. She wanted him to be one of the first to know. _"Well, he told me to get involved with something that I believed in didn't he? To find something to make me feel useful? He just hadn't known what I would do that's all."_ Importantly, Kylen also wanted his advice on how to break the news to Nathan and her father. She pulled into Steinbeck's a little before dinner.

Amy heard the car pull in and met Kylen at the door with a hug. Kylen felt that she had come to know the routine of the household. She counted off the residents on her fingers to Amy. "Dale is still at the clinic and McQueen is taking a shower after his afternoon session. Let's see, there is one cat in here, which means that one is probably asleep on the Colonel's bed. God is in His heaven and all is right with the world. How do you want me to help with dinner?"

The little speech made Amy laugh. Kylen had them pegged. It was a relief to have someone here to lighten the mood in the house, but the younger woman had been wrong this time. "No, Kylen, any evening but this one, and you would have been right. The boys are out and about, but step this way. We can discuss them in their absence," Amy joked as she gestured grandly toward the kitchen.

Dinner was subdued but companionable. Dale, Amy, and Kylen talked about what Kylen's family was up to, the weather, and life at The Clinic. Talk of the war was generally avoided during meals. Kylen noted not so much McQueen's silence, which was not by itself unusual, but his lack of involvement altogether. 

After dinner the Colonel went to sit alone in the library rather than take part in the usual after-dinner activities: clean up and conversation. Amy took her brandy into the parlor and Dale pulled Kylen to the side. He had a favor to ask. 

A few minutes later Kylen headed toward the library holding a glass of scotch that Dale had poured for McQueen. She was not happy with the mission she had been given. When she entered the library Kylen was struck, as she had been the first time she had met The Colonel, by the bubble that he always seemed to build around himself. Sitting in the leather chair in front of the fire, he looked more alone than anyone Kylen had ever seen. Even the cats were avoiding him. She handed him the scotch.

"I've been sent," Kylen told him softly.

"For?" McQueen asked her as he stared into the flames.

"To try and talk you out of your passive aggressive behavior. You are making a dreadful parenting error."

"Which is?" he inquired warily.

"Do as I say, not as I do," she said. McQueen looked up briefly at her then back into the fire.

Kylen decided to try to jolly him along. "Don't put off 'til tomorrow what you can put off 'til the day after tomorrow," she said with false gravity. McQueen did not respond. Kylen went on. "Bite the bullet, McQueen."

"If there is a point, Kylen, land on it," he muttered. But he knew precisely the point she was attempting to make. 

"You've told me to talk to someone, encouraged it as a matter of fact. Well, now, Six, you have to. You have to see the shrink."

"You think I'm suicidal?" McQueen more stated than asked her.

"Don't be ridiculous. And don't play games with me. You aren't all that good at it," Kylen said. _"Why won't he just tell me?"_ she wondered. "Look, if you were your own commanding officer, I bet you'd want you to be seen by somebody you would believe first before you would let yourself back on duty."

"Well, Kylen, that was crystal clear. See if you can make a more convoluted statement," McQueen responded. _"She has rapidly passed over being irritating and is becoming a real pain in the ass," _he thought. The fact was that McQueen knew she was making sense. 

"OK, I'll try and clarify for you Colonel," she said unable to maintain her patience. "We've got an isolated and pissed off Marine with a big ax to grind. We don't know if he is stable. But, hey, lets give him lots of grunts to move around the universe. And, hey, while we're at it, we'll give him lots and lots of big guns, too." She paused. "You know that you have to have an evaluation before they will let you back on active duty. Just get it over with."

She made sense and it infuriated McQueen. He wasn't really sure why he was avoiding the issue so violently. He had been through psych evaluations before - he had always hated it, but he had put up with it. "_Damn her. Damn her being right again,"_ he thought.

Even though McQueen was sitting, it seemed to Kylen as if he was gazing down on her from a great height. He was wearing an expression that she had seen during her work for the InVitro Rights movement. She had come to think of it as "The Blank Tank" expression.

"Oh, give it up," she said. " Don't use that face on me."

He said nothing. His inability to silence her was vexing.

"Do you practice that face in the mirror or what?" Kylen spat and began to pace. "It must work for you on some level, but it is a double edged sword, you know. You don't give any information. It's true. No one can tell what you are thinking, but it allows people to project anything they want onto you."

"And what they 'project' on me - the mistakes they make - tell me more about them than they ever would," he spoke over her. 'Never interrupt your enemy when he is making a mistake,'" McQueen's eyes flashed and reflected the fire.

"Look around you, McQueen," Kylen demanded, her tone rising. "How many enemies do you see? This may be an island but it ain't Elba. It's temporary."

Amy and Dale could not help but overhear parts of the exchange coming from the library. Dale moved to the door to hear more clearly. Amy started to move toward the library but he blocked her way with his arm. "Amy, wait. Let them work it out. If they draw blood, I'll step in."

Kylen was incensed with McQueen. She could appreciate the fact that his life was not going as he had planned - but neither was hers. It wasn't a reason to withdraw from her, of all people, and there was certainly no reason for him to be abusive to her. _"An enemy, indeed! My ass!"_ she thought.

Kylen felt as if their connection was slipping away, and this connection had been something that she had unconsciously counted on for weeks. Her counselor, Doctor Feller, had confronted Kylen about her frequent symptoms of depression. Kylen had difficulty seeing them in herself, but no problem seeing them in McQueen. She didn't think she could handle watching him sink under. Kylen took a breath and tried to calm herself. She decided to try the old pattern.

"So, McQueen, you've decided to show the dark side of your moon." She hadn't intended the double entendre, but it amused her nonetheless.

"Not now." McQueen said softly, almost a threat.

"Everyone is a moon and has a dark side which he never shows to anyone," Kylen continued in a light and breezy tone.

"Not now, Celina"

"Don't you know the author, McQueen?" she wheedled. He tried to ignore her.

"Then, tell me, McQueen, are the reports exaggerated?" Kylen's tone was challenging.

"What reports?"

"The reports of your death. Sitting here in the same room with you, I'm not so sure that they are exaggerated."

"Don't start with me, you will not win," he said giving her 'The Look.'

"Bet me, Buckwheat," she muttered under her breath.

"Enough," he warned.

"I beg your pardon, was that something worth hearing?"

"I said enough!" he growled.

"Excuse me, Did you say something? " she shot back.

"STAND DOWN, CELINA"

Now she was angry with him. A voice inside her told her to drop it but she found herself unable to do so. She was not going to be shut up by anyone. Kylen was free. She had survived. She could say no. McQueen had told her that himself. She looked him in the eyes, emboldened. 

Sarcastically she gave her response: "He shouted – opening Door Number Two. Enter the supreme commander."

"Not that crap again, B.P." he groaned.

"What is this B. P.?" Kylen asked. "Beach Patrol? Butter Pecan? British Petroleum?"

"Bad Penny, Small Change," he virtually sneered it to her. "And Elba was temporary. Everything is temporary."

Kylen was momentarily silenced. She could not believe what had just come out of his mouth. She sat, needing to regroup. She knew that he didn't believe it - that everything was temporary - that there were no constants. Or she hoped that he didn't really believe it. She desperately hoped it was a grandstand statement meant to shut her up. Kylen made a decision - for whatever the reason he had lied for effect.

"Don't forget that I grew up on a farm, Colonel," she said gently. "I know bullshit when I smell it."

Her tone had managed to release some of the tension in the room. McQueen couldn't answer. Kylen had come to understand him too well and had called him on it. 

Amy took another step toward the library. Dale shook his head no; she stepped back and sat nervously in her chair.

"Colonel McQueen, are you angry with me or just angry?" Kylen asked.

McQueen snorted. It was an interesting question. One that undoubtedly had a story behind it. McQueen really wasn't up for one of her stories. He walked right over her question, choosing to ignore it totally.

Both McQueen and Kylen tried to calm themselves. They knew that they were skating on thin ice, but neither one was willing to break off and leave the room. They both felt that they had too much invested to leave. 

Kylen wanted to ease the tension so she went to her bag and pulled out what she had wanted to show him. To her this had been good news - something to be excited about - and she hoped he would be happy with her. Kylen handed him the letter. It was good quality stationery embossed with the Marine Corps symbol and the return address of Headquarters at Eighth and I. McQueen started to read the letter.

__

"Howard and Radford." McQueen had wondered what the deal was with those two and the letter now made it uncomfortably clear. _"I've been waiting for the other shoe to drop. And here it is with a particularly vicious little bang," he thought. "Now, the question is 'why'."_

"What the Hell do you think you are playing at, Kylen?" he said through clenched teeth.

"I'm not playing at anything, McQueen. I found something useful to do. At your suggestion, I might add. Something I believe in. I've been offered a job. I'm going to be working for Howard and General Radford in Intelligence. Civilian assistant. I believe the word is aide. Analysis. Assimilated rank of second lieutenant. My security clearance will be unbelievable."

"You have no idea, Kylen."

"Fortune favors the bold you said," she said, challenging him.

"You don't know what you are doing," he said contemptuously. McQueen hated having his own advice thrown back in his face.

"Oh? And you do?" she shot back. Kylen was tired of trying to appease him. _"If he wants to be difficult - let him. Just don't expect me to play along."_

McQueen was silenced. The air bristled around them. Kylen was momentarily quieted but the perverse side of her nature - having grown up holding her own with eight siblings - was now in full control. 

"McQueen, It's a damn good thing I like animals," she said almost conversationally.

"What now?" he asked wearily.

"That 800 pound gorilla you trail around on a short leash gets to be a bit much."

"800 pound what?" he questioned

"Gorilla. You know, McQueen. Gorilla? People can often see it coming before they ever see you. It's huge and black - this thing - your anger."

"What are you talking about?" he quizzed her.

"It's huge and black," she repeated; her heat and volume continued to grow. "It's shiny with massive shoulders and a great silver back. High forehead. Heavy brow. Big teeth. Real National Geographic stuff. It smells too. Hell, you can smell it before you see it. Fireworks, jock straps, and overripe fruit. And burning little red eyes. Suspicious, mean, nasty, angry, shifty little burning red eyes." Kylen wasn't finished...not by any means.

"It, this anger ... It ignores everyone who loves you. It pushes them aside. It walks over them. It doesn't even deign to look down as it steps over the bodies. And you, _YOU_. You feed it and pet it. You love it. You groom it and spoil it and teach it tricks. But you forget, you stubborn man. You forget that this anger is a living thing. A wild thing. Oh, I know you love the fact that it is wild and that you really only barely control it. You glory in walking on the edge of it. You bask in its heat. But I tell you, if you don't tame it, McQueen, it will tear into you soon enough. It will eat you. Consume you. Spit you out and use your bones to pick its teeth."

Her conviction and volume had grown throughout her diatribe and she was yelling now, in full sail. She was flying. Fearing that she would go even farther, she chose to sweep from the room in a grand exit and began to make her way up the stairs.

McQueen was thunderstruck. Drill instructors and superior officers had reamed him, but with dispassionate, impersonal aggression. Even in their worst arguments years ago, Amy had never come at him with such ferocity. No one ever had. Not like that. Little Kylen; he was almost afraid of her. But she was correct, yet again; his anger was huge and it was on the rise.

"You little puke," he shouted as he followed her out of the room. 

Kylen turned around halfway up the stairs. "Is that a Marine Corps term? Yea? Well, deal with it, Big Bird. I know that few things are harder to put up with than a good example. Martyrdom covers a multitude of sins, McQueen. At least I'm doing something with my life. Something to disturb the universe. And, by the way, I see that I managed to get you off of your dead ass and out of that chair. "

"Get Down Here, you fucking cheerleader," he ordered in his best parade ground bark.

"No, I don't think so, McQueen. You can't give me any orders yet and I've had more than enough of what's behind 'Door Number Three' to last for a long long time. And, for your information, I am not now nor have I ever been a cheerleader, fucking or otherwise." With that she slipped off her shoe and winged it at his head. Her aim was true and he had to duck. When he looked back up she was gone.

End Chapter Twenty-eight


	29. Morrison

Literary Giants 29 - Toni Morrison

Kylen slammed into her room, ripping off clothing as she crossed to the bathroom. The only answer was hot water. She wasn't used to fighting with people she cared so deeply for and was upset by the incident itself, let alone the content. The bitter exchange had left her feeling dirty. She set the shower for the hottest temperature she could stand and the strongest massage. She gave a quick shake to the bottles of perfumed soap and shampoo that Eithne had given her.

__

"I hope there is enough," she thought. Tears of frustration stung her cheeks as she climbed into the steam. 

**********************

Downstairs in the parlor, Amy was absolutely glued to her chair, flabbergasted. Steinbeck seemed relieved and a bit amused. "That was one pissed off little cheerleader," he said to himself. McQueen was still standing at the foot of the stairs - looking at the spot where Kylen had stood, but focusing on something within himself. Dale approached McQueen and calmly picked up the shoe. "I particularly liked the bit about the nasty burning little red eyes," he chuckled. "She certainly can turn a phrase, our little Kylen," Dale said, leaving no doubt that the exchange had been overheard in its entirety. 

McQueen spun around to face the doctor. "How much longer?" he demanded. "How much longer do I have to stay here? Sitting around your house doing nothing. I've got to get out of here. I have to do something. I've got to get back."

Dale turned the shoe over in his hand. "Shoe therapy. Now, why didn't I think of that?" He paused briefly and then steered McQueen back into the library. 

"To answer your question," Dale replied. "First of the year. The end is in sight, Ty, but let me give you some advice. Calm down and then go upstairs and grovel. She is a woman, and groveling usually helps," he chuckled to himself. "If you don't make your manners with her tonight, she's likely to put the other shoe up your butt tomorrow."

"Apologize?" McQueen was indignant. "Me? She was a little harridan."

"Not very pretty but effective," Dale remarked. He paused before continuing in a different tone. "Ty, she admires and respects you. Don't look at me like that. You know I'm right. Other than the odd joke and occasional gentle teasing - and I stress gentle - when has she ever shown you disrespect? I don't know how she behaves privately, but publicly she has always paid you your due. Even with Amy and me she will only call you Colonel or Sir. Ty, she brought you news. Kylen wants you to be proud of her. She wanted your approval. Calling someone a little puke isn't exactly the best way to do that." 

"She comes here to get away from the circus at her house. She comes here for herself. So she can feel better. I do not exist to make her feel better." McQueen muttered with an intensity that mildly surprised Steinbeck. 

"Of course she comes here because you make her feel better. I like to think that I make her feel better. That Amy does, too. But you can't pretend that she is a little bloodsucker either. You can't tell me that she doesn't lighten your spirits. That your days, hell, all of our days, are just a little more interesting when she does visit. Tell me that she never plans things to distract you, or that she never makes you laugh. That she never pays attention to your feelings or what you have to say. Even if she is sometimes trying, tell me that you don't enjoy her company. You can't. Give me a break. Kylen knows who you are. Fair trade is no robbery, Ty."

********************

Kylen was washing her hair, letting the water rinse away the anxiety. _"Damn it, I bitch to him about his anger and I can't control my own."_ The fight had made her aware that she had been training her own rage. A Doberman to his gorilla, true, but she had been keeping it hidden. 

"Black thoughts grow best in the dark," she quoted her favorite colonel. _"I've been stuffing things away in a dark place deep inside myself." _Kylen had been trying to follow McQueen's advice; not to worry about things over which she had no control, but she was finding it difficult. _"I wonder_ _how well he really does it? Can he control his thoughts as well as he does his dreams?"_

Survivor's guilt was a well- known and documented psychological reality, but there was a world of difference between reading an article and living with shadows. Being free was one thing - claiming ownership of that freed self was another. When Kylen looked into the mirror she often didn't recognize the woman who was now living behind her eyes. And worse yet was the knowledge that often the people with whom she shared her life, her history and her love didn't recognize that woman either. Her family wrapped themselves around her. Interested, open but never pressing, they had all taken the lessons of the "decompression" seminars to heart. The family tried to let her find her own way. They ignored her foul language as best they could. (That had been a big change she hadn't even realized until four letter words started falling off of her tongue in the middle of her father's living room.) She could see compassion in their eyes and could feel their love and patience. Sometimes it made her feel like they were sapping her strength rather than assisting, and it made her want to scream. They had thought her dead - 'anything dead coming back to life hurts.'

The counselors had been right about other behaviors as well. Most of the time things went pretty well. She still had trouble sleeping and actually felt the most comfortable, the most truly at home, in the middle of the night when she was the only one up and around. Alone, but with people around her. There, but not there. Kylen found herself weighing people and judging them. The ups and downs of the everyday life that most people lived, the life she had dreamed of every night in the mines, often seemed trivial. Too many silly, worthless things that people worried about and on which they wasted their time and energy. Often even her family all appeared weak to her - untempered and untried. Her father, her brothers and her sisters still too often treated her with kid gloves and Kylen felt that she could easily break any one of them with the sheer force of her will if she so desired. They made her impatient. Sometimes she wondered how they could breathe.

Kylen found that she now often preferred the company of people that she had only just met, people who knew her since the disaster on Tellus. Steinbeck's house had, until this evening, been a release. Everyone here just took her as she was today. No one had looked for subtle differences in her reactions or had held her up to an imaginary line on the wall. Until this evening. 

Kylen was forced to realize something uncomfortable. What had bothered her the most hadn't been McQueen's temper. She had seen it before. His isolation did seem extreme which deeply worried but did not surprise her. But what had upset Kylen - had caused her to lash out - was the fact that for the first time McQueen had treated her as he treated everyone else. She had observed that he could attack people and ideas effortlessly, quietly, dismissively. She knew that he had a streak of ruthlessness if pushed. McQueen had put up 'Do Not Disturb' signs but had never slammed the door in her face. He had warned her to back off; setting out clear boundaries that she had respected. But she had never before felt the actual fusillade of his brusque dismissal and aloof appraisal. He had never aimed his guns at her. Kylen had gotten used to the pride of place. She had come to think of it as her own little Door: No number but her tiny name instead. Her trust was shaken and it hurt and frightened her to be shut out of his circle.

**********************

Civilians!" Ty used the term like a curse.

Dale responded: "I suppose we civilians are from a different reality, but the fact remains that, you are immensely important to her. You are her link to both worlds. The one world she had before Tellus and the one she lives in now. She is devoted to you. Kylen wants you strong and clear. She wants you to be your best, not just because she feels safe with you, but for you - all by yourself - just you - because you have great worth. But I will tell you this, T.C. McQueen: She does want something from you. She wants you to think of her as valuable.... And since it is 'Samuel Clemens Night' - who, until this evening, I never thought of as confrontational - at least not in this sense," he gestured with the shoe. "Remember: 'Keep away from people who belittle your ambitions.'" He gave McQueen a moment to think it over. "Nathan isn't here but you are. You really don't know how significant you are to her, do you?"

"Of course she has value. I wouldn't be pissed off if she didn't have value," McQueen protested, choosing to ignore Steinbeck's question.

"So tell her. Look, Tyrus, I know that you've been dealing with your self-image, but you may also have to deal with your image of the future. And I don't just mean in the war."

"What are you talking about?"

"Face it, no matter how you may have pictured your death, you just may not go out in a blaze of glory - and you will never be one to just fade away. You will die one day. But it just may be that you will die old, in your own bed, hopefully surrounded by people who care about you." McQueen just snorted his doubt at that statement.

Amy had entered with a brandy, which she handed to her cousin, Dale. "Why wouldn't we be there?" she asked McQueen. "Besides, after tonight, Kylen will be there just to make sure that you really are dead." The snide remark actually eased McQueen's hostility. Amy spoke again.

"Ty, I know that you love her." Amy held up her hand to cut short any protest. "Make that: I know the manner in which you love her. If you want to dance at her wedding ... if you one day hope to be called 'Uncle T.C.' and to get silly drawings from her children to hang in your quarters.... You should take his advice. Listen to Dale. Kylen will forgive you almost anything, I think, but don't be fooled, she doesn't come here to baby-sit your attitude." 

Dale gave McQueen a moment to think it over then added: "Grief can take care of itself, but to get the full value of a joy you must have somebody to divide it with." 

**************************

Kylen was washing her hair for the second time and trying to analyze the confrontation. She came to the conclusion that she had wanted McQueen to do something that now, upon reflection, she didn't think that he was able to do: Kylen had wanted him to let go of his rage. She believed McQueen implicitly, and he had once told her that a good commander does not give orders that are impossible to follow. Now Kylen was no longer sure if letting go of his anger was a good thing for him to do - a safe thing. In her estimation, he was a keenly balanced individual. Kylen had heard somewhere that to be normal meant the ability to work and to love. McQueen was normal and he had paid dearly to be that way. Not that it meant he had a particularly well balanced personality. She considered several things as she turned the water temperature up even higher as if the hot water drumming on her back would clarify her thoughts. 

__

"McQueen is an angry man and has lots of reasons to be such. He is driven and single-minded. He is accomplished and successful and, most importantly, he has built himself from the ground up. People ask for and respect his opinion. Hell, wasn't that what I wanted? His good opinion? McQueen has tested and polished himself - found the mix that fuels his successes. No, expecting him to give up that spike of anger is like expecting a thoroughbred not to be hot-blooded and fractious. Take it away and the balance could be thrown off. For a man in his line of work that could be dangerous. Maybe fatal." McQueen didn't have to just stand balanced on the edge of a cliff - he had to walk over it on a tightrope and he carried the weight of others on his shoulders while he did it. If fortune would smile, someday he could relax - but today wasn't the day. His life and that of others could depend on his sense of self - his sense of balance. For now, changes had to be made in very small increments.

*************

Amy and Dale led Ty into the parlor where they sat while they all composed their thoughts and emotions. They could all hear that Kylen had retreated into the shower. No one could really think of anything to say, so they sat for quite a while in silence. Finally they heard the water stop and Kylen's footsteps could be heard coming from the floor above. The sound seemed to provide a release for the trio.

Dale looked at Amy. "What family doesn't have its little problems?"

"What?" she asked, tired. She really hadn't heard him and didn't really care. "Oh, Dale, I'm tired. I don't know what you mean and I'm going up to my room." She gave Ty a pat on the back, kissed Dale on the cheek goodnight and started up the stairs. Dale followed her and gave her the answer. "It's from 'The Lion in Winter.' Don't worry, Kylen will know."

***************

Kylen had put on her pajamas and was brushing her teeth. Since her first night at The Barn she had left her toothbrush and a few toiletries in the little bathroom attached to what Dale had assured her was "her" room. She had staked her claim on this little corner of the universe. "_Someday. Someday, maybe even tomorrow, I'll have to take this with me when I go." _The thought of not leaving something of herself behind in this house, with these people, made her very sad. _"Dale is probably going to take the news of my decision to work for the Corps about as well as McQueen, and Amy flat out hates the Big Green."_

Kylen sat on her bed and pulled out her journal, which she had started to keep at the suggestion of Doctor Feller. In reality it was also a scrapbook of sorts. Kylen had filled it with articles, news stories and pictures, as well as the writing of the ups and downs of her readjustment. She was amused to see that she had unconsciously divided the journal into sections. There was a special place for her family and a section filled with items about the disastrous Tellus mission. There was now a divider for Maine and life at The Barn, and a section for Nathan, which was also filling with things about the 58th. 

__

"When she finds out I'm compartmentalizing, Feller will probably schedule a half a dozen more intensive sessions. If he was in a better mood, McQueen would probably get a good chuckle over the fact that I'm dividing my life into compartments," she thought. Colonel McQueen was the only person who inhabited more than one section of her journal.

Kylen looked at a picture of Nathan. It was a formal portrait of him in his dress blues wearing the Montgomery Star. He was a recruitment officer's dream. 

Kylen's study of the Marine Corps had revealed a strange dichotomy. A number of individual Marines seemed to have difficulty accepting the cultural differences between their lives and the lives of the civilian population. When she had been at Marine Headquarters, she had overheard a couple of Marine enlisted men use the word "Nasty" when talking about the civilians they had to shepherd around. It had struck her as odd, this friction between the military and "The World" that so many of the men longed for. Kylen had finally asked the corporal who had been assigned to take her to see the Marine Corps Memorial at Arlington. 

The young man had apologized that she had heard the remark, but she noted he didn't apologize for the remark itself.

"It is a difficult thing to explain, Ma'am. I suppose that many men and women in the services find that there is a lack of discipline in the general population. And on a personal note, Ma'am, I don't believe that I have heard anyone outside of the Corps - other than my father and my minister - use the term 'integrity.' The Marine Corps just lives by a different code."

Kylen turned a few pages and found the most recent news article about Colonel McQueen. Another formal portrait of an officer in the dress uniform. But there was a difference in this photograph.

McQueen's devotion to the Marine Corps was unquestionable. It was a perfect example of the Square Peg. But for the first time Kylen saw that there was a possibility that there was an unacknowledged element inside that commitment. Kylen wondered if it was discomfort with the civilian world, fear of the lack of rules - the existence of riots, ghettos and the ever present IVA. 

The InVitro units had been disbanded by law. An InVitro joined the military now only by free will. She was not so naive as to believe that there weren't two standards of behavior - one for Naturals and one for InVitros - but the framework within the military was firm, the expectations clearly laid out. There was only so much a bigot could get away with. It had to be better than in 'The World,' as Marines called civilian life. It certainly had to be better for McQueen with every rank he had achieved especially now as a Full Bird Colonel. Begrudgingly or not, every Marine had to give him the respect of his rank and achievement. McQueen would never be treated with the same respect and civility in the private sector. 

Kylen compared the photographs of Nathan and McQueen. Nathan looked like the man you would want to have defending your freedom. 'Character, leadership, duty, integrity.' He filled the uniform the way you hoped it would be filled. It added an air of maturity and competence. Kylen smiled and stroked the face in the photograph with her finger. 

The portrait of McQueen was subtly different. In his case the uniform did not add to the man: The man added to the uniform. Kylen was familiar with Door Number Two - McQueen in command mode. She had seen him in uniform, but not like this. This image was a door to a part of the man that she didn't know. It was not a picture of the man she considered her one of her closest friends. It was almost a photograph of a stranger - someone who she could only vaguely imagine. McQueen looked not only like an officer and a gentleman. Not only warrior - but High Priest. The dress blue tunic was his sacred vestment, his ephod. Kylen wouldn't have been in the least surprised to see the Ark of the Covenant behind him. 

*******************

McQueen had heard Dale and Amy close their doors, had listened as they both padded around their rooms getting ready for bed. When all was silent in the house, McQueen finished his drink in solitude and then he too started up the stairs.

End Chapter Twenty-nine


	30. Akhenaton

Chapter Thirty - Akhenaton

McQueen stood outside of Kylen's door, pausing momentarily. _"I feel absolutely ridiculous, " _he thought. Apologies were like good-byes to him. He didn't like them and rarely made them. You didn't apologize in the Marine Corps. Not usually. Rarely. You said 'Aye Aye' or 'Yes, Sir,' ' No, Sir' or 'No Excuse, Sir.' But you rarely, if ever, said 'I'm sorry.' _"Besides, I'm not even sure what I'm sorry for...What I did.... She was the one who came after me.... No, that's not the truth. She isn't one of your Marines. She isn't in boot camp. You stupid tank, you tried to walk all over her." _McQueen knocked gently on the door, unsure of what waited for him on the other side.

"Come in."

McQueen opened the door. He did not enter, but stood in the doorway. _"Thank God she isn't packing her bag. She isn't going to leave."_ He only just realized that he had been afraid of that. Afraid that she would leave. Kylen was sitting cross-legged on the bed. She looked at him impassively, which was not what McQueen had expected. He wasn't sure what such an expression from her meant, and she had learned it from him. "Kylen, may I speak with you?" She gave him the once-over and he knew he was being "read." She was looking for something. Whatever it was she must have found it because she spoke.

"Listening," was all she said, but it gave him a sense of relief.

"Could we go downstairs, please? " he suggested. His training was ingrained and totally unconscious. He was an InVitro, Kylen a Natural-Born. He wouldn't enter the bedroom of a Natural-Born woman unless invited and preferably in front of witnesses. Kylen was dimly aware of his racial discomfort, and it hurt her for herself and for him. And yet, the kitchen was neutral ground and a better place for this conversation. She put on her slippers and a robe. Her appearance bewildered the Marine. Kylen was wearing thermal pajamas. Green - a shade that Ty had never seen in nature. The robe was one that Dale had loaned to Kylen the first night she had spent in the house. An ancient "Indian Blanket" woolen number. Dale was almost a foot taller than Kylen. The robe dragged the ground and was large enough to fit two of her. The sleeves had been rolled up and held with safety pins. It was huge and ridiculous - and although Ty didn't know - Kylen loved it. Her slippers were beyond his ken altogether. They were big, fluffy, and pink. They looked like stuffed animals, and the right one squeaked when she took a step. It was so fantastic that he couldn't even laugh. He'd never seen anything like it in his entire life.

Kylen swept past him and down the stairs. McQueen had a feeling that things weren't going well. He whispered to himself: "Every lion cometh forth from his den." He hadn't intended for her to hear him - at least not consciously - but Kylen, three or four steps ahead of him, had heard.

"All serpents, they sting, " she snapped, finishing the couplet without looking back. McQueen didn't respond. He was unsure if her response was a warning or an accusation.

They regrouped in the kitchen. McQueen held out a chair for Kylen and she sat. He sat across from her. Both had their hands folded in front of them on the table. She remained impassive and waited for him to speak - and waited. 

McQueen thought he knew how he would start if one of the 58th was sitting in front of him, but he was balancing what to say to Kylen. He was struck again by the lack of clear rules outside The Corps. She probably needed the same guidance that his 'Kids' did, but he didn't know how to say it. He had seen - but had no real understanding - of the life she had lived. 

Kylen continued to wait. This time was different. Before she had always broken - had spoken first. This time it was different: She would not be moved. McQueen could feel himself begin to fidget. This was unbelievable. He was going to crack first and he knew it. McQueen did not want to look Kylen in the eyes so he looked at her hands folded on the table in front of him. Kylen followed his gaze and immediately removed her hands from the table.

__

"Oh, shit. Good move, McQueen. Focus on what makes her uncomfortable. Way to go Ace." he cursed himself.

Strangely enough, McQueen had inadvertently tipped the scales in his own favor. He had succeeded in breaking her concentration. Kylen's will had been shaken, and now she could wait no longer. She fell back on the tried and true - sarcasm. "So, McQueen? How about them Patriots, huh?" 

McQueen's train of thought was destroyed. "_How does she do that? Wang would have loved her."_ And for the first time the memory of Paul didn't hurt. 

Kylen spoke: "It is my fondest wish that someday...someday I'll get to hear you really laugh - really laugh out loud." 

"And someday you will do as I tell you," McQueen shot back before he could think better of it. But she hadn't listened to him. He had repeatedly told her to get away from these people as soon as she could. To get away from him as well.

__

"Shit, don't push his buttons,_"_ Kylen thought_. "McQueen still thinks enough of you to make peace... or I think that's why.... I hope that's why he brought me down here._

"Hot chocolate?" she asked quickly. She stood up and crossed behind McQueen to make the drink. She was unconsciously playing a power card by forcing him to turn in his chair.

"Coffee. Please," he responded without thinking, and realized that she wasn't going to bring up the sore subject. She would dance around it forever. It was up to him. 

"Kylen, I hate to tell you this, but a PFC gets more respect than a Second Lieutenant, particularly at assimilated rank. It's well known that a 'Butter Bar' can't pour piss out of a boot." It irritated him that she would not sit still. 

"I don't intend to stay a 'Butter Bar.'" She tossed the remark over her shoulder like she had used the term for years when in fact this was the first time she had heard it. McQueen's statement had thrown her a bit but also increased her determination.

"Kylen, I know about this. I'm afraid you've been sold a bill of goods. It's a highly disciplined life. You can't have those in the Corps," he said, pointing at her bunny slippers. "Marines don't wear pink." He was actually a bit concerned that The Corps would stifle her. He enjoyed her independent spirit. But what McQueen was really trying desperately not to admit to himself - what did not fit with his self-image - what he was only just barely conscious of - was that he was jealous. The Corps wanted Kylen.

"They are Bridee's. She gave them to me. She thought that she was too old for them so she gave them to me. Go figure. Be glad that you bypassed thirteen, Bird. It's no picnic. " 

McQueen could not contain himself. "But what are they?" he asked.

"Bunny slippers. No, I don't imagine that Amy ever wore Bunny slippers, did she? We may have a problem with Bridee by the way, McQueen."

"What are you talking about, Kylen? I can't keep up," he admitted for the first time in his life. He knew that Bridee was one of the sisters - other than that he was lost. It didn't occur to him that he had correctly interpreted the "we" in Kylen's statement to mean him and Kylen - not Kylen and her family.

"Bridee. She is in love with Cooper Hawkes."

"She doesn't know Cooper Hawkes," McQueen said. His lack of understanding was complete. 

"Like I said, she is thirteen. Bridee thinks Coop is incredible. She's heard the stories. She's seen his picture, which she now keeps beside her bed, by the way. That's enough when you're thirteen." Kylen realized that the point of her conversation was too far outside of his realm. McQueen was beyond lost, and there really wasn't anything he could do about it in any case. Such things often took care of themselves. The overt tension between them was dissolving.

"Never mind," she said. "I'll try to handle it. But we aren't here to talk about Bridee and Coop, are we? And you didn't call me down here to discuss footwear." 

Kylen had managed to regain control of herself. McQueen's thinking had been correct. Kylen had been reading him as he had stood outside her door. Kylen knew she could have avoided the argument - could have headed it off any number of times. McQueen had only given as good as he had gotten: This she knew. She had read him not so much for an apology as for a sign that he had not rejected her. A willingness to go on. 

"I still forget sometimes," Kylen said and busied herself. "Here. Help me." She gestured to the cups and dishes she had removed from the cupboard and to the dessert, pie left from dinner. Eating together - breaking bread - was something one did with friends. To Kylen it signaled more than a truce: It was a way to come together again.

"When I see you every day...,"she said softly. Almost all of their real conversations took place in hushed tones and half whispers, even when they were alone. They only used conversational tones to communicate the unimportant - the everyday. Neither Kylen nor McQueen was aware of the astonishing impression of intimacy this gave to other people. This was just who they were with - and for each other. "When I see you here, like this - with us ... With me - I forget."

"What do you forget?" McQueen had opted to follow her detour for the moment. He wasn't looking forward to apologizing and he had learned that a winding path is often the easiest way to get to the top. He rose and helped her transfer the items to the table. 

"I forget what General Radford told me about you," Kylen admitted.

"What was that?" he asked tenuously.

"I asked him about you once. 'Is McQueen as good as I think he is?" (That was exactly how she had worded the question - they had been talking about McQueen's abilities as a pilot, but Radford had captured the many layers of her question.) "He gave me two words.... Well, three." She turned to look at McQueen. 

"Radford said: 'No, he's better.'" 

The words hung in the air, floating like contrails near the ceiling. McQueen and Kylen were silent while the imagined vapor dissipated in the air. McQueen finally wheeled around on his cane, went to the butler's pantry and returned with a bottle of scotch. It was going to be a long night.

End Chapter Thirty


	31. Kipling

Chapter Thirty-one - Kipling

Kylen looked at McQueen as he poured a scotch for himself and, as an afterthought, one for her as well.

"It's a highly ordered and structured way of life, Kylen." McQueen shifted his gaze back to her, only to find that Kylen was looking at him as if he had two heads. 

"Colonel McQueen, I may not know much about the military, but my head doesn't screw on and off," she said evenly.

"That's one thing I know for sure," he said, giving her his 'almost' smile. "But can you follow orders? Can you live without questioning everything?" 

"Colonel, the Marine Corps has obviously worked for you. It is a way of life that answers a particular need in you. Nathan seems to like it well enough. Why not me? Besides, I'll be a civilian employee - and my job will be to question things." McQueen did not answer her. Kylen had asked him another question and he thought she had just proved his point.

Kylen went on: "So, you obviously don't think I have what it takes to be one of the Few and the Proud. Does that mean you also think that I don't have what is needed to even work for the Corps?"

McQueen was able to answer without hesitation. "I don't question your sincerity, Kylen. You are just too much the civilian. It is the difference between involvement and commitment." 

"How so?"

"You see it at breakfast all the time," he said. "Ham and eggs. You can say that the chicken was involved, but the pig was definitely committed."

It made Kylen giggle. She was surprised at how often his maxims about The Corps made her laugh. She knew that he did not catch the irony of eggs: He certainly knew the military definition of scrambled eggs and undoubtedly used the term, but he probably wouldn't appreciate the joke right now. The term was used to describe the gold metallic decorations on the brim of an officer's hat. He would have scrambled eggs on his cover. _"I'll never be able to read or hear 'Green Eggs and Ham' again without thinking of McQueen and the Marine Corps."_

McQueen continued. "Eisenhower once said: 'When you put on the uniform you accept certain inhibitions.'"

It clicked inside her mind_. "That's it. Putting on the uniform may come with its own set of responsibilities and inhibitions, but it also came with an identity and a belonging that was historic and honored. It came with rights and privileges. Esprit de corps." _ The Marine Corps was not temporary. She had been right - he had been grandstanding. Part of her relaxed. Kylen then leapfrogged at least one of his thoughts. 

"Our relationship is going to change anyway," she offered.

"How so?" McQueen asked. He had recognized this fact since the night that Kylen had broken into the Clinic. She had earlier even written him the words: 'This is a season we have to live through.' It wasn't what Kylen had originally meant, but it would serve. 'A season.' Yes, it would change, but he was interested in knowing her take on things.

Kylen took a deep breath and spoke. "Well, I hope our relationship - whatever you want to call it - But I hope that our real relationship doesn't change; our inside relationship. How we ... oh, I don't know the right word.... How we connect with each other; it is going to change. You have the birds on your shoulders already but someday, before too long, there will be a formal ceremony. They will pin them on your dress blues and you will get your newest medals and cameras will flash. You will be the highest ranking, most decorated InVitro in the history of The United States. I don't know where they are going to put you, but I doubt you will be hidden away. They are going to want you out front somehow. Equal opportunity in the military. Interviews with the heroic InVitro. And how you will hate it all. Even if you get back to the Saratoga, there will be another layer of command between you and the 5-8. There are going to be layers of security and protocol between your duties and walking along the pier with me in Maine. I hope I can stay your three o'clock buddy, but I know that you will probably be unable to stay mine. Even if you wanted to be."

"Three o'clock buddy?" he asked.

"The truest friends are those people you can call at three in the morning. And, I want you to know, I thought of that before I ever read it anyplace else." 

This was new stuff to McQueen. He wanted to consider the concept. 

__

"People you can call at three am; who aren't surprised or angry when you do. I bet West would really appreciate that. Calls from the 'Old Man' at 0300. But then again.... I can see Kylen rolling over in bed and handing Nathan the phone saying: 'It's Coop,' and then rolling back over and going back to sleep without missing a beat. They will probably always have three am friends; accepting it as a reality like the sun coming up and of equal importance. Oh yea, she is a Little Puke all right. Gees, McQueen, open mouth, insert foot, chew vigorously. "

As usual Kylen had already moved ahead. "Politics and misery make strange bedfellows. Isn't there a line about war doing the same? If there isn't - there should be. You know, McQueen, I sometimes think that we both need to wear signs around our necks that say "Under Repair." She paused and prepared herself to speak an uncomfortable truth.

"I recognize certain facts," she said. "I recognize that we are both sitting here in Dale Steinbeck's kitchen due to some pretty outrageous circumstances. The circumstances of the war and the peace conference - the very fact that my family lives in New England," she chuckled. "If we would have met any other way.... If there hadn't been any aliens.... If I was living on Tellus.... If, somehow, you had been made the C.O. of the 58th. And if you were posted to sentry duty. I may have met you.... If there had been some official reception on Tellus perhaps.... We'd have been introduced by Nathan. If that would have happened, you would have been stringently polite.... I'm sure that the Marines have the protocol all laid out. 'Recommended Customs When Meeting the Family of Subordinates'.... You would have taken my hand, made a minute's worth of 'Pleasure to meet you' small talk and then passed me off to the next person in the receiving line, mentally crossing me off the list of dull civilians to whom you had to make your manners. Happy to be done with me and hoping that there wouldn't be dancing after the dinner. If If...If..." She gave a sardonic smile.

McQueen was flattened by her seemingly casual analysis. Kylen was absolutely correct in her assessment, and it hit him in the solar plexus. 

__

"If my leg hadn't been blown off. If she hadn't spent almost a year and a half in the mines. If she hadn't met me half-naked and high. If she hadn't held my head while I puked my guts out. If she hadn't recognized the Goethe quote." McQueen shook his head. _"I have wanted so many times to be rid of her. To not have to bother. But here I am again, sitting with her in someone else's kitchen, after midnight, drinking scotch."_

"If," he whispered.

"It sounds like we are going to break out into a Kipling recitation. 'If you can keep your head... '" she said.

"I don't know Kipling," he admitted, once again glad for her rapid-fire change of direction.

"British; the Raj in India. Victorian, therefore sentimental by definition. Unfortunately, made far too charming by Disney. But he did write some great short stories. Fables. A few really good poems and verses. One in particular is titled 'If' - which like Hamlet's 'To be or not to be' has been watered down and trivialized by overuse and bad readings_. "I've been reading that poem a lot lately, but he doesn't need to know that," _she thought. Kylen placed one of her callused and battered little hands over his. 

"Part of it goes: 'If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew to serve your turn long after they are gone, and so hold on when there is nothing in you except the will which says to them: 'Hold on.'"

During the brief speech Kylen had gripped McQueen's hand almost as tightly as she had at Thanksgiving. He was again taken aback by how well Kylen had come to know him. McQueen could think of nothing to say. Kylen came to his aid with a light touch. She changed her tone.

"Look him up. Dale is bound to have a volume or two in his library. He is a 'Captains Courageous' kind of guy." Kylen paused again. They had gotten off topic. It was not the point. Not the point at all.

"So, tell me, Six," Kylen prompted.

"Tell you what?" McQueen responded

"Tell me why you don't think I should take Howard up on his offer to work for Intelligence." Her voice was smooth and reasonable, but the demand was clear.

"You and I know, Kylen, that they want information that they think you may have," he responded with an equally reasonable tone. As he spoke, he started to pick leisurely at the dessert she had cut and placed before him, sculpting the whipped cream into small peaks. "They can get that from you without you signing on, even as a civilian. You are working closely with Howard as it is, so, why is it that you wish to sign on - to work for us? That is my question." 

Kylen stared into her scotch. Hoping for a vision. She knew that she didn't have an answer. And she knew that McQueen knew it too.

End Chapter Thirty-one

Literary Giants M.Wheels


	32. Danielewski

Chapter Thirty-two - Danielewski

McQueen realized that he had backed Kylen into a corner. That had been his intention, but he also perceived that unless she had some room in the conversation to move - to breathe - he would get nothing but crap platitudes for a response. McQueen knew only that he was not comfortable with Kylen working for The Big Boys in Intel. For whatever reason, it set off a buzzer in his brain. Kylen would now have to answer McQueen's question, but he wanted a meaningful answer. He would give her room while she gathered her thoughts.

"Take your time, Kylen. Don't answer until you are ready. I want a straight answer. Maybe not tonight, but before you go home. Don't expect my help with Dale or Amy until you answer me," he said, guessing that she hadn't told them yet and would want his support in that quarter. People were not likely to be pleased with her latest maneuver.

"As for Nathan and your family - you are on your own there."

Kylen gave him a weak smile. This was very important to her. _"I should have known he would want more information - that he would demand answers."_ She sat in silence and toyed with her food. She took the occasional bite and avoided looking at Colonel McQueen. Above all, Kylen didn't want the man to think she was just a Corps Groupie. She had heard about civilians, both men and women, who just liked to be around Marines for several different reasons, - a number of which she was sure McQueen found distasteful - but with one constant: The Mystique.

"They want me," she said in a tiny, pitiful voice that McQueen had never heard before and didn't much care for. Kylen hoped that he could recognize the importance of the statement - what it meant to her. His face remained impassive. It wasn't his 'blank' face; it was his 'waiting' face. Kylen saw no glimmer of understanding in his eyes - not that that necessarily meant a whole lot. She felt forced to go on and continued in a stronger voice.

"Howard and Radford want me for who I am - who I am today. They want my brains enough to hire me as a civilian. They acknowledge my life, and they don't try to ignore the obvious. They don't want me for the person that I used to be. She doesn't interest them a whole lot. They want my experience - my new experiences. Some people try and pretend that this past year never happened, but I can't. It's too massive. Radford ... Howard ... They accept it like they accept the fact that I'm right handed."

The Colonel nodded. As much as he didn't want to agree with her, McQueen was forced to admit a certain logic to her statement. 

"Kylen, don't you think you need to take more time? Time for yourself and for your family? You should take time to sort all this out; to regroup and rebuild. Make sure that working for Howard is what you really want ... really need to do." McQueen still saw a problem. The Big Brass had been giving Kylen the red carpet treatment. The Corps, while rightfully proud of taking care of its own, was not well known for altruistic gestures. 

Kylen smiled inwardly. McQueen had just offered her a piece of advice he wouldn't follow if his life depended on it. Kylen wished that he would take time during this leave to go on a vacation or some kind of personal retreat. Given the state of the war, he probably didn't even conceive of taking an interval for himself - of this, she was sure. Kylen looked into his face, wanting very deeply to tell him: 'Heal thyself.' Now was not the time. The fight was still too fresh, and McQueen was not in the mood. Kylen didn't want to be sent to Coventry again - she was far too lonely, so she returned to his question about the job offer.

"It is a worthwhile and important job," she said. "It's something 'outside' of myself. It's something bigger than just me." 

"Colonizing a new world was something pretty big, Kylen. It's not like you haven't tried to be part of important things - tried to do big things with your life," McQueen said.

"That's it. I tried to do big things with MY life," Kylen said. "Yea, sure, there was and is the need to expand our boundaries - natural resources, food, energy, fuel, and water. We all know the drill, but the Colonies were going to be agro or industrial outposts for generations. We weren't out there paving the way for a mass emigration. Yes, it was an important thing, but I was going - Nathan and I were going for ourselves - because we had a dream to go into space. It all seems a bit selfish to me now."

"I don't think it was selfish. Your dream coincided with larger events. You were luckier than most people," McQueen said, and then recognized the foolishness of his response. He had been thinking of her life up to the point of being separated from Nathan. "Up to a point," he quickly amended.

"Up to a point," Kylen repeated sardonically. McQueen gave an anemic 'sorry about that' gesture. Kylen dismissed the gaffe with a wave of her hand and continued. "Working so closely with the Corps... It is for me, as well, I suppose... I can't lie about that ... But it is working for something much more significant. It is for something outside of myself. It is a service that I can render. And now, this is where you tell me that there are other ways that I can support The War Effort."

"No," he said softly. McQueen had been thinking about telling her just that, but he wasn't going to say it - not now. Therefore, it wasn't a lie. He had promised never to lie to her.

"You know me well enough by now," Kylen moved her case forward. "I had the juice to leave my home and family to travel to Tellus - to do it even without Nathan. I would have been gone for at least twelve years. I'm not the classic 'Jody Back Home' of Marine Corps legends - either the good stories or the bad ones. Seriously, can you see me sitting around keeping the homefires burning, wrapping bandages? I wasn't that person - ever. Not even on a good day ... Not in college and not during my training for Tellus."

McQueen wondered for a split second just how many of the 'Jody Back Home' stories Kylen had heard by now. The fables were notoriously hard on the symbolic 'girl you left at home.' He was distracted for only a split second, that was a topic for a different conversation. He wasn't going to be thrown off the scent. McQueen had to admit that he didn't see Kylen sitting around waiting for news from the front. The Colonel tried to imagine her living her life like that - riding out the war at the farm ... waiting for mail ... waiting for news. He couldn't see it, as much as he wished to. It was a forced and false image. Kylen had spent the last few years of her life on the bleeding edge of science and technology. She had prepared herself to do something remarkable. Kylen had not only sat in the front of the bus; she expected to know who was doing the driving.

Kylen spoke again: "I'm smart and I'm not without skills. Could I find something else to do? I suppose I could if I had the energy to look for it, but no one is beating down my door. This appeals to me. I feel like I can really help and I will feel closer to Nathan ... We've been apart for so long already. Who knows how much longer...."

"You have to realize, though, Kylen, that most of intelligence work is mundane. You will probably be doing the most mind-numbing jobs imaginable. Believe me, a lot of it is stultifying," McQueen interjected. He had decided to try a different tack. He would appeal to her innate sense of honor, of propriety. "Do you really want to sit in a basement office somewhere reading other people's mail? Intelligence covers that little gem of a job. That is what censors do, you know."

Kylen hadn't even considered that possibility. She looked away from McQueen and into her scotch. Kylen knew that all communications were censored. She remembered a security guard sitting next to her when she called home from the Nightingale, but Kylen had never really thought about the fact that somewhere a person was actually doing the censoring. It was not a comfortable prospect.

"They didn't tell you that, I see," McQueen pressed the advantage. "Everything is screened electronically for 'hot' words and phrases, numbers and names. But guess what, Kylen. Either before or after, it gets the once-over by a pair of human eyes. The system acts as a double check. The censors flag questionable information and write up their little reports about gossip, rumors and morale. They keep lists about people and events, Kylen - it's necessary. I know you can understand that fact, but I have trouble picturing you doing it - paddling around in the backwaters of people's private thoughts."

Kylen squirmed a little in her chair. _"What a way to make a living,"_ she thought. It made absolute sense, unfortunately. She had heard the AI's repeating television shows that had aired after the mission had left for Tellus. The enemy was getting current information from somewhere. 

"Who watches the Watchers, I wonder?" she asked McQueen. "And who watches the Watchers who watch the Watchers?"

__

"Irony is a Maginot line drawn by the already condemned, Kylen," he thought. McQueen didn't want her to slip out of his grasp. She wouldn't fall for his censorship ruse for too long. _"If Howard wanted to keep an eye on her he didn't really have to offer her a job. It would be easier to have her under his direct control, but I don't think that's the idea. And if it isn't, then it isn't going to take Kylen long to figure out that Howard didn't ask her to come aboard to snoop through people's mail. She will figure that out soon enough."_ McQueen decided to put on a bit more pressure.

"Kylen, you understand the term 'need to know,' but do you know the military definition of something being classified 'Compartmentalized?'" McQueen asked. _"If she cracks a joke about compartments or doors, I'll wring her neck,"_ he thought.

"It's another way the military classifies Top Secret," she answered seriously.

"Good girl. The letter says 'analysis.' You will probably only see information about a small piece of any operation. You may never get the whole picture. Let's suppose information crosses your desk that concerns Nathan's group. Suppose our MEU...." McQueen stopped and looked for her understanding.

"Marine Expeditionary Unit," she recited. He nodded and continued.

"....our MEU is going to be put into harm's way. You could conceivably know this even before I would ... or whoever is in command would," he corrected. McQueen remembered that he was no longer part of the 5th MEU. What the unit did wasn't his business any longer. "And you could certainly know before West. Could you still analyze the information in a dispassionate fashion? Could you give an honest opinion? People aren't going to want to hear 'I don't think I can do this.' And they aren't going to have the luxury or the time to think 'Is this something Kylen shouldn't see?' They want good, honest, reliable information. There are two hundred thousand Marines out there. They all have families - people who are waiting for them to come home." He paused. "Could you keep yourself in check and your head screwed on straight? Could you not try to warn Nathan?"

"Yes, I think that I could," she said calmly, with surprising maturity. She had already considered this possibility.

"Oh, you think so? And how do you know this?" he asked doubtfully. How could she grasp the concept of command decisions - the weight of making choices about the fates of men and women that you are responsible for? Could he spare her the choices of Demios?

Kylen gave a tiny smile. "Satori," she whispered to him. 

McQueen narrowed his gaze. He read in her face that she understood the term and was, without a doubt, using it correctly. This, he had to hear. He gestured for her to continue.

Kylen had reviewed the pros and cons in the middle of the night and in the early morning hours; pacing around the keeping room and then walking out over the fields at the farm. The ever-curious Holsteins had surrounded her. Their breath had created jets of steam - fog in the predawn cold. Kylen had drawn comfort and strength from their nearness and heat - their calm but guarded demeanor. The soft, striking, black-and-white pelts and the placid stares were part of her internal landscape. She knew these things inside of herself. Kylen had rested, leaning against a particularly friendly 'Mama,' her arms around the powerful neck. Underneath the scent of earth and sweat there was a distinctive sweetness in the smell of the dairy cattle. Kylen looked back toward the barns and the house - the place where she had spent most of her life. She had left it once before, but it had always been her home. Life seemed so different back then. Life was different now. The farm would always be a place she could come to; a place to rest in - an anchor and a safe harbor. But it wasn't her future - it was her past. With more finality than when she had left the Earth on a spacecraft, this was her past. Kylen had followed the cattle down from the high ground toward the milking parlor. She had been able to hear her father starting his morning serenade. Frank had switched to selections from My Fair Lady, and Kylen loved him fiercely. 

Kylen didn't think that she could adequately describe the experience to McQueen. She thought: _"How do you really explain Satori? It is by definition a personal insight. One man's Satori is another man's walk in the fields avoiding cow pies. McQueen, Mr. Eastern Philosophy, knows that better than I do. He knows that the manner and moment surrounding Satori doesn't really matter - It's the thought that counts." _She was momentarily distracted by her pun. She looked up to share the joke with him. Now was not the time. McQueen would not allow her to change the subject, and her attempt to do so might change his opinion of her. He expected and deserved her answer. _"Dignity. Don't whine."_ Kylen sipped her scotch. _".... And don't go around half-cocked."_ She swallowed and spoke in her reasonable way.

"Nathan ... all of you ... are going to go into harm's way no matter what I do. My pretending it isn't so won't make it go away. I can sit at home and wish and hope and block out as much as I can, but it will never change the facts. And, you see, I know it. I'm convinced that trying to pretend would be a slow way to make myself crazy. It's like the maxim about the elephant in the living room. The uncomfortable reality that people walk around, pretending that it doesn't exist - as if you couldn't catch the smell. Eighteen months ago I probably could have done it, I suppose, but not any more." Kylen sipped her drink again, paused and continued.

"You told me that not all news is bad news. Not everything I may hear about the 5th MEU - if I hear anything - will be bad. I'll be able to truly sleep some nights, rather than being afraid every single night. I thought I had learned early, at ten, that death will come. Mama died - It changed our lives but we still lived. My family thought I was dead - blown to smithereens. I've seen death up close and personal, and I can't stand at the gates like a wolf with K-bar in my teeth fighting it off. "

McQueen could see, however, that, in her own way, Kylen was trying to fight off death. He had seen Kylen in her 'mother wolf' mode and, in fact, got an impressive visual of her standing in front of the Gates of Hell yelling: 'You gotta come through me, you bastard." His vision was interrupted when she spoke again.

"If I do put together information that Nathan was going into danger - like he isn't in danger everyday," Kylen interjected, giving McQueen a meaningful eye. "If I knew that he was going into danger, don't you think that I would be even more meticulous? Good intelligence, good analysis could mean his survival. My silence could mean his survival, probably even more than my trying to tell him. He has become one of you - a soldier - a Marine. He knows his job, and now I'm beginning to understand it too." Kylen felt like her explanation was dissolving into babble with no clear direction. 

"Colonel McQueen, I've spent too much time in the dark. Don't expect or ask me to stay there. I'll be able to do my job."

McQueen understood Satori. He did not argue the point.

End Chapter Thirty-two

Literary Giants M.Wheels


	33. Dante

Chapter Thirty-three - Dante

"Is there anything else, Kylen?" McQueen asked her. 

Kylen sighed. It was obvious that she was making up her mind just how much to tell him, but she had relaxed and was ready to talk.

"One of the reason is selfish - I'll admit it. It is because I want to know," she confessed. "There is just too much activity around us - the survivors. Everyone tries too hard to be casual. Gees oh man, McQueen, you can see the veins standing out on their necks when they ask questions. They think that we either have a key or are a key. And I want to know what it is." 

__

"Here it comes. This could be where all the pieces fall into place," McQueen thought. He had been dreading this.

"What will that give you, Kylen?" he asked. "How will that make a difference in your life - other than just to know? And what you learn would be 'Classified,' most likely. You couldn't tell anyone - not without being locked away again - in a prison or a mental hospital. Just to know what it is they think they want from you? Is it worth it?" he asked her, hoping desperately that she would pick up the intended warning. "Leave this alone, Kylen. What does it really matter?" McQueen asked. _"Follow your own star, Kylen, leave everything else alone," _he thought. _"'Come forth to see the stars again.' "_

Kylen, however, was not listening closely enough to pick up his thread. She went on. "I don't think that I can leave it. It is all just right there," she said, gesturing to the left of her head at something just outside her peripheral vision. "Take Aerotech. Why are they still so involved? Their main point is still questioning people. Any rehabilitation or compensation they talk about seems like an afterthought." Kylen paused. "But without knowing the reason, given that they are so involved - it's strange who is there and who isn't there. Like, just where is Sewell? He is the space exploration bigwig. I had to be interviewed by that guy twice. Smarmy. He should have been all over this like white on rice - if only for damage control."

__

"Oh, what the hell?" McQueen thought. _"She is too close. I can't hold this off forever. Howard must have known this would happen. He is probably_ _waiting for it. Better it hits here, in private, than with him."_ The Colonel shifted in his chair. 

"I don't think you will be seeing Sewell, Kylen," he said softly.

"I see that you've met the man. I can tell by the look on your face," Kylen said. "Isn't he a real piece of work? On the other hand, he would make himself scarce in all this. I swear the guy walks around with his golden parachute strapped to his back. The Aerotech Colonial Expeditions have hardly been an unqualified success have they? No, Sewell will be somewhere else, putting as much distance between himself and us as he can. He'll have moved on to something else."

"You could put it that way, Kylen," McQueen admitted. 

Kylen looked at him, questioning and attentive.

"He's dead."

Kylen laughed out loud and clapped her hands. "Serves him right, the bootlicking little S.O.B.," she spat with such venom that McQueen gave a start. "Officious Little Shit that he was. Forgive me, I'll dance on the man's grave. Or did he die in space? Please, please tell me he died in space - far away from home."

This positively vicious streak in her nature did nothing to stem McQueen's worries about how Kylen would handle herself in Washington with the Big Boys. Like when she had quoted Lady Macbeth, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

"Kylen, I personally detested the man. But you have to remember to stay in control," he again tried to head her off.

"Not with you, Big Bird. Not with you. I can smile at them if I have to. I'll lie if I have to - but not to you. I have to have someone I can tell what I really think. Sorry, but you're it. We all hated Sewell's guts before the flight ever took off. Then after the attack and the crash ... How that condescending little worm used to wax poetic about the epic journey on which we were embarking. "Building a new life on a new world. The New Pioneers. The wonders of space." We used to devise our own tortures for him when we were down in the mines. The terrors we felt - injuries we had - we'd say: "Put that one in the bag, we take back to Sewell."

"A Silicate got him - in space," McQueen told her.

"Good," Kylen said banging the table for emphasis. She seemed to suddenly realize just how much of her hidden self she had allowed to show. The two sat in silence for a few moments while she reined herself in.

"I can see I'm going to have to spend some serious time with Dr. Feller vis a vis the Sewell issue," she lamely attempted to joke.

"Probably a good idea," McQueen replied.

Kylen drained her scotch and held it out to McQueen for a refill. She took another sip as she rose and began to clear their half-eaten desserts away. Neither one of them had really been hungry. She began to think out loud again.

"Then there is the Pink ... they all want to know about the Pink ... even you. What does it do, anyway?" she asked as she busied herself at the sink. "It's important isn't it?" Her movements slowed. "How could they know it was there?"

McQueen wished that he could really read her face. He needed to see her face, but the reflection in the window above the sink was muddied and irregular. Kylen shot him a glance over her shoulder. 

__

"Click - that's one tumbler in place." he thought. _"She is so close."_ If he attempted to lie to her now she would never trust him again. _"Kylen won't back down and she isn't going to stop at the edge and think better of it. No, she has big brass cajones. Damn little pillar of fire. She will follow the trail until it leads her right off of the cliff." _ McQueen had seen things like this before with squadmates, but never with a civilian. He hoped it worked the same way.

Kylen stopped what she was doing and looked up into the window to catch McQueen's unfocused reflection. She was remarkably still.

__

"Click. There's the second tumbler." McQueen thought. _"God, I hope I'm strong enough to catch her. This won't be good. It's going to hit hard and she is too passionate."_ As McQueen looked at Kylen, a quote floated through his mind: 'Passion has little to do with euphoria and everything to do with patience. It is not about feeling good. It is about endurance. It does not mean to flow with exuberance. Passion means to suffer.' 

McQueen watched in silence as Kylen's features seemed to dissolve into a mask that he couldn't begin to describe - and never wanted to see again.

"He knew ... They knew ... Didn't they? They knew," she whispered horrified as she turned to face him.

__

"Click," he said to himself. "_Another train wreck. I hope she doesn't throw up again. This is it. The lock is open. It is Kylen's choice now. She can retreat and deny it all or she can yank it all open. Get ready, McQueen, you've known all along what she will do. The sleeper will awaken. God, I'm not good at this soul-catching stuff. Make me strong enough to catch her." _

He stood and took a few steps toward her. She halted him with a look. No, she would do this all on her own. The great flame that follows the little spark - Kylen would take the full force of the truth alone. It was as if she felt it was her punishment for having survived. The tumblers had all dropped into place, and the lock fell open. 

"It's more than the Pink.... They knew..... Knew about.... My God, we shouldn't have been out there, and they knew it," she said. Her voice was strained and oddly detached, and McQueen felt sick to hear it. All the suspicions and scraps of information had fallen into place. She now knew the whole picture - or at least enough of it. In a flash, Kylen's whole being dramatically altered.

"All this pain," she growled, and threw a coffee mug against the wall. It wasn't enough.

"All these deaths?" She turned and grabbed the second mug and sent it flying as well, but it was still not enough for her.

"All the dreams gone and they could have prevented it all," she cried out, picking up their plates and smashing them against the floor with all her strength. A satisfying crash.

McQueen moved toward her. Kylen reached down and grabbed a fork. She held it firmly in her fist with her thumb against the tines. She wasn't kidding around. If he came any closer she would make a move on him.

"And you knew this," she hissed at him. "Don't even think of trying to lie to me. I know that you did. You knew. How long?" It was the final betrayal. Her anguish was unbelievable. 

"Knew for sure? No doubts?" he asked her, remarkably calm. She nodded 'yes'. 

"I found out the day you were rescued," he whispered. "I learned the truth and got my leg blown off." McQueen did not wish to trivialize Kylen's recognition, but he wanted want to let her know that such knowledge came at a dreadful price. A price he had tried to spare her.

Kylen considered McQueen's response as she stared into his infuriatingly calm face. He was 'handling' her again and she didn't like it, but she knew he was telling the truth. "You weren't allowed to tell me. That's why you said nothing. It's compartmentalized," she affirmed. "But you couldn't tell me anyway, could you? You didn't know how." Kylen said it as a statement of fact and understanding. "What good does it do me, other than just to know," she reiterated. Kylen looked at the utensil in her fist and let it drop to the floor.

"They knew ... And they knew where we were and they did nothing ... they left us there. They left us to die to protect their dirty secrets. This whole war.... Oh, McQueen," she groaned. "Just which Circle of Hell are we in?" Kylen slowly slid to the floor, her legs no longer able to hold her up. She didn't cry. She was beyond tears. 

"Forth? Seventh? Ninth?" McQueen answered her softly. "It doesn't matter. It's their circle, not yours. You are just passing through. You don't have to stay there, Kylen. You just have to get through it." McQueen finally moved to her side. He squatted and made a move to touch her. She shocked him by abruptly pushing his hand away. It had been a big gesture on his part and he was hurt by - and did not understand her refusal. Kylen looked briefly into his face and then away again.

"No. It's taking everything I have to hold it together. If you touch me - I know I'll lose it. And I don't mean crying lose it, I mean padded room lose it," she whispered and rested one hand on his knee. McQueen remembered the time on the Asjiki when she had stood guard over him. He looked down into her face. Up until this moment and even after being a prisoner, Kylen would have gone to her grave denying that such a level of greed - of sin - existed. It was something she hadn't been able to imagine. McQueen was deeply afraid for her. He had just seen her entire understanding of life shift in twenty seconds. McQueen did not know if it would cut another facet or add another layer - or smash the jewel altogether. After a few minutes he spoke.

"Should I get Dale? He would have something for you. If not here, then at the Clinic," he suggested.

"We'll see. Not yet, anyway. Can I have some water, please?" Kylen's voice had taken on the childlike tone McQueen had heard once on the trip home. He thought that he could at least copy some of her actions. He stood and wet a towel which he handed down to her, then he drew her a glass of water. He sat next to her, their shoulders touching, while she sipped. 

"I'm so cold," Kylen whispered as she drew up her knees. McQueen was aware of the signs of shock. He stood without difficulty and, not wanting to leave her alone for too long, moved to the back hall, returning with a coat that he tucked around her like a blanket. He sat next to her again. They were still for quite some time. Kylen moved her arm from under the coat and slipped it through his.

McQueen knew that he could only help so much. He could walk the trail with her, but she would have to find her way out of these woods by herself. He could not read Kylen's expression. He had always been impressed by her self-possession. Kylen did know who she was, no matter what she had feared. Kylen carried her own force within herself. 

On the transport leaving the Saratoga, while Kylen had been asleep, McQueen had made the choice to touch her hair, establishing for himself that she was a real person. From the moment he had made the choice to see her as a person and not a symbol, he had felt a kinship with her defiant and determined spirit. He had envied her completeness. McQueen hadn't always understood her or read her correctly, but when he had looked at Kylen she had always been 'right there' looking back at him. 

McQueen had no idea where she was at this moment. He felt that they had gotten separated. Her expression was dull and her eyes unfocused. This was the closest that he and Kylen had ever been - physically - but he felt keenly how far she had 'removed' herself from him while she tried to wrap her arms around this new reality.

Kylen began to speak in a faraway voice. "What's the first thing you remember?" she asked. "Not about this, but the very first thing in your life?" She paused but did not wait for his answer. "I remember taking my first steps. People tell me that I'm making it up, but I really do remember it. I remember my little dress - white with pink flowers - and I remember looking down at my feet. I was outside holding onto the fence with my right hand, and I remember the feeling of just letting go."

If this is what it took for Kylen to rebuild a sense of herself, McQueen was willing to go along. After a pause, he spoke. 

"It is true, you know, a lot of InVitros can remember being born. Not everyone - too traumatic I suppose, and a lot won't admit to it. But I do remember being born. God, it was so cold - so uncomfortable. I think it was feeling my own weight for the first time. It was painful, really. I don't remember learning to walk though. I must have blocked that out." McQueen was surprised. He really couldn't remember it.

Again there was silence. Their conversation progressed at a slow, measured pace.

"I remember my second birthday party," Kylen went on. She spoke gently, as if she was afraid that a firm tone would cause the rest of the glass in the kitchen to crack and splinter. "Well, I remember my cake with the animals on it and blowing out the candles - where the cake was and who was standing next to me. I had on a blue dress."

"I remember learning to tie my shoes," McQueen confided. "I had a hard time learning and the monitors were angry about that, which made it worse. I finally got the hang of it after lights out - by the moonlight though the window. Clemence helped me. He made it off of Omicron Draconis and he survived Port Riskin, too." He paused, remembering. "I don't know where he is now."

"You should look him up," Kylen suggested as she rested her head against his shoulder. "I remember learning to tie my shoelaces too. It must be a universal. I finally got it on a Sunday morning. I was sitting on my parent's bed. Mom was still under the covers and Dad was just in from milking." Kylen rested for a few moments, matching her breathing to his. "How old were you when you learned to ride a bike? A two wheeler? Christian taught me. I was six."

"I've never ridden a bicycle," he confessed. "A Harley, yes. But not a bicycle." 

"You have a Harley?" Kylen looked up at him.

"I was a fighter pilot. It's got to be a muscle car, a sports car or a Harley. Mine is in storage down at Loxley."

"Well, you have something to look forward to then," Kylen whispered after some consideration.

Again silence and the passage of time. It was a very slow process.

Kylen's tone of voice changed slightly. "This whole war.... This whole war," she repeated. McQueen nodded, waiting to see where she would go with the thought, but she said no more. McQueen lightly plucked a piece of piecrust out of her hair.

Kylen shifted and rested her hands on her knees. She stared intently at them, and then she slowly turned them over and stared at the palms. McQueen could only guess what was going through her mind.

"What are you looking for?" he whispered to her.

"I'm memorizing," she replied. "I wish they looked better."

"They do look better. The cuts and bruises have healed, Kylen. Your fingernails are growing out," McQueen reassured her. Her fingers had been smashed, but in a few more months the black-and-blue fingernails would grow out and the calluses would be gone. Just a few more months.

"Yes, I suppose they do. But I need to memorize them now." Kylen asserted.

"Why?"

"Isn't that how you control your dreams?" she asked him. "Doctor Feller told me that a person can stop a nightmare. You have to tell yourself - in your dream - to look at your hands. If you can look at your hands in your dream, the nightmare usually stops. You may wake up, but the nightmare will stop. Is this how you do it?"

"I can't control my dreams," he told her. McQueen still had killer nightmares.

'But you can. I've seen you do it. The first time I ever saw you - you were on the transport. It made me angry, watching you control things even in your sleep."

"What makes you think I was controlling my dreams," he asked, now curious. McQueen looked at his own hands.

"You would start to dream. Your breathing would change and your face would tighten. Your fingers would twitch, and then moments later your face would relax and your hands would rest and your breathing would become easy again. I was jealous."

McQueen said nothing. He wondered if Kylen was right. Maybe there were some dreams that he had been able to fight off. If there were images he had controlled, maybe there were others he could learn to beat back as well.

"Maybe you just can't remember doing it, or maybe you can't do it all the time," she said, disappointment evident in her tone. She snuggled against his side and again rested her head on his shoulder.

"Do you sing?" Kylen asked.

"Not well. Why?"

"I wanted someone to sing me, like I was a little again," she said simply.

"Don't push it," he teased her ever so gently, nudging her with his shoulder, testing her reaction. Kylen looked up and gave him a weak smile. McQueen felt he should continue to let her take her time. 

"None of this had to happen, did it?" she asked.

McQueen assumed, correctly, that she was talking about the war again. "No one can say what may have happened. We could have encountered the Chigs under different circumstances. It still may have happened, but it didn't have to happen like this."

Kylen felt a strange sense of relief. She had begun to feel responsible for the start of the war - even if it had been in ignorance,

After several more minutes, McQueen felt her stir at his side. Kylen shook her head and looked around the kitchen.

"Oh, my God, what did I do?" Kylen slowly reached out and picked up a piece of broken china. She had done a spectacular job on the crockery. "Oh, thank goodness this wasn't Dale's good china. I don't think I could afford to replace that." She pulled away from McQueen, moving slowly as if she was moving through water. Kylen began to crawl around on her hands and knees picking up the pieces. 

McQueen could see the tears starting in her eyes. _"Crying may be good at this point - I honestly don't know - but I'll be damned if I let her crawl around through garbage as penance for having lived. It's not going to happen,"_ he thought to himself. McQueen reached out and grabbed her arm and rather unceremoniously pulled her around to face him.

"No," he said as if she were two years old again.

"But I made the mess," she protested. "It's my job to clean it up."

McQueen wanted to explode but restrained himself, speaking through clenched teeth. "Do you really think Dale gives a hot damn about a mess in his kitchen? He cares more about you than a few broken dishes. 'Don't do your job so faithfully that you lose your peace and your life,' Kylen."

"You would," Kylen said with great simplicity, looking him straight in the eyes. The tears were gone.

"I'm not talking about being a soldier. I don't mean dying in battle, Kylen," he said. 

"I knew what you meant," she said gently. "You would," she whispered it again.

End Chapter Thirty-one


	34. Hamilton

Literary Giants 34 - Hamilton

McQueen helped Kylen to her feet, guided her to the table and sat her in a chair. He wrapped her coat around her shoulders. 

"You should go upstairs - try to get some sleep," McQueen suggested.

"You jest."

"Just a thought," he offered.

Kylen crossed her arms on the table and rested her forehead down on them. Her face was hidden. McQueen got some ice, poured himself another drink and, again, sat across from her.

"You should tell Howard about this, shouldn't you?" she asked without raising her head.

"I've known about this longer than Major Howard, and I outrank him. I don't have to tell him jack," he said softly. _"Radford, on the other hand, could ask me directly - could order me - but I seriously doubt that he will," _McQueen thought.

"I should probably tell him that I figured this out," she whispered into the tabletop.

McQueen reached out and rested his hand gently on her arm. _"Duty says that you should," _he thought, but he said: "You don't have to tell him jack either, Kylen."

Kylen sighed deeply. "Do you think this was a test?" she asked, still not looking up.

McQueen moved his hand, placing it gently onto her head - a benediction. He wondered if, indeed, Howard had given Kylen just enough information - to see if she would put it all together. But, then again she was simply too smart, too intuitive, not to put it together on her own. _"A test on at least two levels,"_ he thought, _"Can she put it together and can she stay in one piece after she does? Howard may have tried to test her, who knows. But she most certainly tested herself."_ McQueen absently stroked her hair.

"I honestly don't know," he whispered.

Kylen shifted slightly underneath his hand, trying to bury her head in her arms. This was reality. There were horrible truths out there - huge horrible truths. But this was reality - Dale's kitchen, broken dishes, the smooth, hard table beneath her arms, the smell of Dale's ancient woolen robe, the warm coat over her shoulders, and the strong gentle hand stroking her hair. This was a real place - a safe place - in the storm of chaos. McQueen and Kylen sat together in the quiet of this tiny safe harbor.

Kylen slowly raised her head. She looked at McQueen and pushed back from the table. Kylen stood and slowly walked toward the door. McQueen stood with her, but she waved him off. "Excuse me a moment," she murmured. The Pink Bunny on her right foot squeaked with every step. She moved unsteadily to the guest bathroom.

A moment later McQueen heard her retching. _"Well, at least that's over with. Adrenaline. I was wondering how long before she got sick,"_ he thought. He began to rifle through the cabinets.

Kylen hadn't had time to close the door, so urgent had been her feeling of nausea, but nothing had come up. She was left with a terrible taste in her mouth nonetheless. Kylen was washing her face by the time McQueen looked in on her. He handed her a box of baking soda. "It's all I could find," he said.

"Thanks, it covers a multitude of evils," Kylen said - and she briskly brushed her teeth with her finger and the baking soda.

She finished, rinsed her mouth and looked into the mirror. By a little shifting of her focus, Kylen could see both her own and McQueen's reflection. "_Mirror, mirror."_ She reached up and touched McQueen's face on the surface of the glass. "The Mirror of Fears," she whispered. Kylen then sweetly, as one would speak to a child, recited a quotation that obviously gave her comfort. "I am a Hostage, snatched from death, I am light's child and heaven's breath."

"I don't know the author," McQueen said. He could imagine Kylen in the dark, in the mines, repeating those words to herself countless times. Comforting herself.

"Annie Hamilton."

She watched his reflection change as his question became evident. "A fairytale?" he asked.

It's all fairytales, Six," she answered and turned from the mirror. McQueen had to flatten himself against the doorjamb as she moved past him. She was on her way out the door - without a coat - before he could stop her. McQueen caught up with her on the back porch. Kylen was leaning out over the railings searching the sky.

"Kylen, now is not the time. Kylen, it's freezing out here." McQueen reasoned.

"Of course it's freezing. It's December. This is New England, and it's going to snow tomorrow too. Christian told me so," she said. "That's why I want to see it now. I need to see it tonight - to know that it is still there."

"See what?"

"My star. I want to see my star. It has to still be there. Everyone would know if it was gone. It has to still be there."

"Your star?" he asked.

"Yes, my star. You can't see it from here. Come with me." Kylen marched back into the house. She ripped a coat off of a hook in the back hallway and tossed it to McQueen, secure in the knowledge that he would be behind her. "You'll need this, I think."

Kylen ripped open the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of champagne, which she almost shoved into his hands. "This too. I won't be sick," she said in such a way that McQueen totally believed her. She put the coat McQueen had given to her earlier over his arm. "Follow me."

Kylen trounced up the stairs and down the hallway, the Pink Bunny singing its accompaniment. McQueen, arms loaded, followed behind. He wondered if he could ever again watch Kylen move through the world without hearing that little squeak. Kylen paused at the linen closet, yanked open the doors, and pulled out two knit afghans. "These too, I think."

She opened the attic door and went up the stairs, trailing McQueen in her wake. Kylen was so determined - so driven while performing these mundane actions that at another time he would have been on the edge of amusement. Her quicksilver changes occasionally irritated him, sometimes exhausted him, but generally entertained him. Tonight these shifts worried him. He had no choice but to follow - to see where she was leading.

Kylen passed by the old furniture and trunks belonging to generations of the Steinbeck family. She came to a halt in the middle of the attic and looked up at the ceiling. "There," she said, pointing at metal ring attached to the ceiling. "I can't reach it without standing on something." Kylen took the wine from McQueen. He pulled on the ring and a narrow collapsible ladder descended. He unfolded the stairs. _"He brought down the stairs to my star,"_ she thought, smiling to herself. Kylen handed him back the champagne and started up the narrow treads. 

If it had been anyone else, McQueen would have asked how they knew that the staircase existed - but Kylen would know. Of course, she had searched the house.

"It's OK. Dale gave me permission," she called down to her companion. McQueen followed her up.

End Chapter Thirty-four


	35. Thoreau

Chapter Thirty-five - Thoreau

McQueen entered a small room at the top of the staircase. It was the Widow's Walk - a small room less than ten feet square. Windows all around gave a view of the ocean for more than 180 degrees, and there was a narrow door that allowed access to the walkway on the roof. There were two small tables and a couple of director type chairs. McQueen and Kylen put on the coats, and Kylen turned off the light. She searched the heavens. McQueen instinctively focused first on Polaris to orient himself to the sky. "The North Star." He pointed it out.

"Thank you," she whispered as she turned, searching. "There it is. My star." Kylen pointed out into the western sky. McQueen had no doubt which light she meant. It was a clear night and most of the stars were easily seen, but there was one that was brilliant, low in the sky and a very pale green. Most of the stars appeared to be glued onto the canvas of the sky. The star Kylen indicated looked as if a hole had been burned through the fabric of the night.

McQueen stood behind her, unsure of how to tell her the unhappy truth. "That isn't a star, Kylen," he told her gently. "That's a planet - Venus."

"Of course it is," Kylen smiled. "It's the evening star."

"And it's yours?" he asked.

"My father gave it to me. You can argue with him if you like," she said sweetly. "You can have the Morning Star if you want it. The 'infinite expectation of the dawn.' Or better yet, The North Star - your shoulders are big enough. 'The far-piercing ray of light that shines from the recesses of a brave man's eyes.' I'll give it to you." 

"Thoreau," he whispered and sat.

"I've learned your guilty pleasure, Six," Kylen remarked. "Most people read cheap romance novels, eat peanut butter and jelly, watch soap operas or 'B' movies. But, you, McQueen, ever unique, read Yankee Transcendentalists." 

"Everyone should have a hobby, Kylen," he said, feeling his cheeks starting to go red with embarrassment, thankful that they were standing in moonlight.

Kylen rearranged the chairs so that they could sit and see both the North and the Evening stars - the landing lights in the sky. Kylen gestured for him to sit, took the bottle from him and started to peel the foil off the cork.

McQueen eyed her critically. "Champagne?"

"It is perfect for the occasion," she said. Kylen spoke softly, seriously as she went about the ritual of opening the champagne. "I love it. I love having champagne to celebrate, but I really appreciate it when I'm unhappy or confused. It lifts my spirits. It offers promise." 

Kylen took a healthy swig from the bottle and passed it off to McQueen. He looked up at her. Her explanation had a certain symmetry he could almost appreciate. He saluted her with the bottle and took a hearty drag himself. McQueen thought what a lucky man Nathan was. Kylen was a woman of many facets - many layers. If Nathan ever got bored it would be because he wasn't looking - wasn't listening closely enough. 

"Sit with me," he requested. Kylen moved her chair closer to his, sat and wrapped an afghan around her legs. The two survivors kicked their feet up onto the windowsill and gazed out into the sky, trading off the bottle now and then. Silent - peaceful with each other. McQueen felt himself beginning to relax. 

"When did your father give you the Evening Star?" McQueen asked.

Kylen took swig of champagne, and once more circled her arm through his as she spoke. "Several months after Mom died, I was particularly willful and stubborn - just generally unpleasant company."

"You missed your mother. You were a child." He stated the obvious.

"I missed her dreadfully. I resented the fact that something had been taken away from me. And I 'wanted.' You know how children can be sometimes - adults too, I suppose. They don't know or can't tell you what they want - they just know that they want."

McQueen felt a shock run to the top of his head. He had seen this in Hawkes_. "Cooper just 'wants' sometimes. You can see it all over him. Damn, me too. I know the feeling myself - perhaps too well."_

"My dad took me outside. We talked about Mommy and how much we loved her and missed her - what that meant to us all. He talked to me about how we needed to treat each other - how we had to love each other, and make sure that we never had to feel regret because we weren't kind or caring. To always let people know that you love them. And then he asked me a question - pretty much the same question that you once asked me. Mommy was gone and there was a hole there, but was there something else that I needed that I did not have? I don't remember exactly how he asked it, but that was the gist. I do remember what I told him though. I told him that I wanted something that would never go away." 

"So he gave you the Evening Star?" McQueen marveled at the depth of Kylen's family.

"Not at first. Such decisions cannot be made lightly. We almost went with Polaris, but the North Star was a lot of responsibility for a little girl."

"I suppose so," McQueen agreed.

After several minutes of quiet, Kylen asked McQueen a question. 

"They are going to get away with it aren't they?"

He took in deep breath. "For the time being, yes, I imagine that they are," he admitted. _"She is fast. She puts it all together quickly," _ he thought with some pride.

"It's the economy, isn't it? The biggest conglomerate in the world can't be allowed to go under right now, can it?" she asked.

"No, you're right, I'm afraid. The rumors - and they will come - will be bad enough. No one is going to pursue this in a public way - at least not for now. But Aerotech has lost a lot of power. Watch." 

Kylen snuggled down into her chair. McQueen wished he knew what she was thinking. After a few minutes, she spoke.

"Eighteen months ago I thought that life got larger somehow - that the more that you experienced - the more you lived - the larger your life would become. Like a stream growing into a river as it rolled down from the mountains. Now, today, it seems to me like it is the opposite. Life seems like a fan of threads and ribbons strung out through the universe. When you are young - little - you dance and move through the ribbons and threads. They spin around you and flutter with the movement of an unseen hand. You brush by them, but as you grow - as you live and experience - the threads and ribbons of life began to twine around each other. They weave themselves together: They form a rope that ties you to things."

Kylen could not read McQueen's expression. She wasn't sure he grasped her description, and it was very important to her that he did understand how she viewed life. Kylen tried again.

"Life is rather like a prism. I used to feel that the light comes through your life on one side and is diffused - spread out into the various beams of the spectrum. But now, today, I realize that it is the opposite. It is still a prism of sorts, but turned the other way round. The various rays of the spectrum enter and are coalesced - brought together - and fused into a narrow beam. It is a focusing of self," Kylen said. 

McQueen nodded. His internal clock was on overtime. "Kylen, do you know that Thoreau said something about three in the morning too? 'The three-o'-clock in the morning courage, which Bonaparte thought was the rarest.'" He paused and took in a deep breath before he said softly: " I think that you have it, Kylen." He toasted her with the bottle and drank. Kylen found that she was unable to answer him.

McQueen knew that he had embarrassed her, so he took a page from Kylen's book - he changed the subject. "How long are you going to stay?" McQueen asked her. _"She may want to go home to her family right away,_ _but I think it would be better if she was here. Kylen can't discuss this with the gang at home - and she knows it."_

"Three days - maybe four," she answered, and then ran with his intent. "Besides, I have to see if you can pass the final test."

"The final test?"

"The three tests of a man's character: How he handles unexpected rain - which I've seen you do. How he deals with lost luggage - and you didn't even have luggage when we met. And finally, how he manages tangled Christmas tree lights. I'd pay big bucks to see that. Will you come to the farm for Christmas? You are invited, of course."

"No, I'll pass, Bunny," he said as he kicked at her feet, but he then became sincere. "No, thank you. Christmas is for your family." McQueen made up his mind at that moment. "I think that I may try to get down to Loxley. I'm going to try to get in to see the Flight Psychologist. Better the devil that you know..."

Kylen gave his arm a hug. She took the champagne from him. "To three-o'-clock in the morning and all of us poor suckers who know its true and varied meanings," she said, drank, and passed it back to McQueen, who drank as well. They were quiet for a while. 

"I've lost the ability to choose, haven't I?" Kylen said. "I had to know. You tried to stop me, but I had to know, and it has cost me my choice." She took the wine and drank again. "I have to go to Washington now. If Aerotech suspects that I have this knowledge I put everyone at risk. If I work for the Marines they may know that I know, but I have to keep my mouth shut. Aerotech will be safe from me, and my family will be safe from them."

McQueen took the bottle from her. Without words, he toasted her flawless logic and drank.

The two watched the stars for several moments, each alone in thought. McQueen inexplicably felt as if he wanted to give Kylen something. She had, over the last few weeks, asked him a number of questions to which he had answered: 'Maybe, someday.' McQueen decided that tonight he would answer at least one of those questions. He looked out the windows as he spoke in a conversational tone that was obviously forced.

"I'll never go up in a 'Hammer' again, not full out, but the somersault over the oncoming right wing - Radford's story - it was me. I didn't have any choice. There was no sweet revenge. I didn't do it for myself." He turned to look into Kylen's face. "I did it to keep people safe - people I cared about." 

Kylen left her chair and stood directly behind McQueen, placing her hands on his shoulders. Having someone behind him in social situations was generally something that made McQueen uncomfortable, but she spoke softly: " Show me where you were born. Can we see it from here?"

McQueen found it instantly. He always knew where it was in the sky seen from Earth. "There. The Constellation Draco: The Dragon. It curls between The Big and Little Dippers. This time of year, line up the two Guardian stars of the Little Dipper. Sight down through them and look southwest." McQueen stretched out his hand and pointed the way. Kylen sighted down his arm. 

"There, see the head?" he asked as he traced the constellation with his finger. "Move upward on the neck of the dragon and there is a little crook. There. The binary - Omicron Draconis. An orange and a blue star orbiting each other. It looks like only one star to the naked eye." His tone became tinged with disgust. "Two stars - and between the two of them they can only manage to support a single planet with a breathable atmosphere. A planet with nothing but uranium and death - only the minimal requirements to support life. It didn't even rate its own name. That's where they took me out of the tank."

Kylen was sorry now that she had asked. "You're here, in this place now. People here want you to flourish - to succeed," she said and hugged his neck.

McQueen wondered if she really knew what a different experience that this had been for him. Never before in his life had he been in such a place - where most people weren't waiting and hoping for him to fail. A place where people only wanted you to succeed. It was not an easy thing for him to trust.

"For a season," he said. 

McQueen gave a cryptic smile and intoned: "And here I bloom for a short season,

But by a kind hand brought

Alive

To a strange place."

McQueen gently disentangled her arms from his neck, and, without rising, brought her around to sit in her chair - at his side once more. 

"Do we have to go to the pool tomorrow morning?" Kylen asked softly, bringing their conversation back once more to the concrete. She didn't want to try to sleep, but thought: _"He is probably getting tired of looking after me."_

"Not unless you want to swim. I've graduated. No more pools, steps or picking up pencils with my toes. Just exercising to get back into shape and get the reflexes back up to attack speed," he told her. "We can stay up all night. Just tell me when you want me to leave. I can stay here as long as you like," McQueen said_. "Payback isn't always a bitch. It's good to feel useful," _he thought.

"Are we, the people here ... Are we the reason why you haven't seen the psychologist?" Kylen asked in a flash of insight. "There was a moment, you said, that you knew for certain who you were. You could fit the Corps in that image. You could fit in Ross and the fifty-eighth, but not us - Dale, me, even Amy, in her own way - your relationship as it is today - my family liking you so well - none of us were part of that image of yourself, were we?"

"No, Kylen, none of you were in that image," he murmured, smiling slightly to himself. She was right, of course: McQueen didn't want to have to talk to strangers about these changes in his life.

"I should have seen this before - I'm sorry, I was too self-absorbed to recognize it," Kylen said and placed her hand on his arm. "A few weeks ago I noticed that you weren't surprised anymore when I turned up."

"Bad Penny that you are," he muttered with an ironic smile and kicked at her Bunny slippers again. Kylen continued.

"You had begun to expect me to show up. I really didn't think too much about it. I didn't appreciate the fact that it was a change for you. That's how friends are - how family is. You just expect them. But here we all are cluttering up your life and sucking up your air. I never really thought about that before. I knew that you felt occasional loneliness - profound loneliness at times. But I never realized that your aloneness was so much how you defined yourself - that your singularity was a state of mind as well as a state of being. You had hoped to get out of this life all by yourself, didn't you? You thought that being the best was all that would be required from you."

McQueen was surprised at the equanimity with which he was hearing her words. She had almost always been able to say things to him that he would not accept from anyone else. It was as if he almost expected to be offended, but never was. Irritated, yes, but somehow never offended.

"It's like Martin singing the stone, isn't it?" she asked in wonderment. Now McQueen was lost. It was, yet again, another manifestation of the 'Celina Effect.'

"No, really, it's like Martin singing the stone. You were able to stand alone inside of yourself. Perfect in your singularity, but somewhere along the line you cracked the door of your little cave. Undoubtedly it was against your better judgment, but there you have it, and the light began to trickle into the darkness. Ross, Amy, Cooper and Nathan and the rest of the Cards - they sneaked in under the LIDAR, and you were going to keep it that way. But the only way we could have gotten inside was because you must have wanted it. Without even knowing how or why your soul hummed a perfect A flat. Now you have to learn how to deal with this power. That's how families are. You always feel the vibration of the people you care about inside you. Even when they aren't with you, you still feel them."

"I don't know if I can ... 'reinvent' myself," McQueen murmured.

"Nobody reinvents themselves, Six. The idea of reinventing oneself is a half-truth, which makes it more dangerous than a lie. It's a cover-up. Any person with a whit of imagination can be anybody they want to be for a month, but it isn't real - and it won't last. It's not the real work of becoming who God meant for you to be. The real work is to adjust, readjust, balance - to focus and refocus. You are just starting to see the outer edges of the spectrum as the light goes through your own prism. Infrared, ultraviolet: They've always been there - you just didn't know how to see them. Oh McQueen, I am so sorry, but: 'There is no remedy for love, but to love more.'"

McQueen felt as if she kicked him in the solar plexus, like she had slammed him into a wall_. "The long night of the soul - for real," _he thought

Kylen stood and moved her chair to the other side of the little room. She took the bottle from McQueen and gestured for him to move as well.

"Let's wait up for the sun," Kylen said with strength. "Let's make sure it's still there." 

End Chapter Thirty-five

Literary Giants M.Wheels


	36. Emerson

Chapter Thirty-six - Emerson

McQueen waited with Kylen - waited for sunrise. _"'A chief event in life is the day in which we have encountered a mind that startles us.' She qualifies," he_ realized. McQueen wanted time to consider the past few hours. He felt torn in two directions: He could deny or embrace her premise. He would have to decide.

__

"There is more to Kylen than meets the eye. She sees more than you think she does. She understands things that you don't think she should be able to. Kylen has confidence in life, and mostly she expects to be loved - and she is. Kylen is loved, genuinely, and she loves back the same way."

McQueen had to admit that Kylen had hit the nail on the head. He had been feeling suddenly crowded and out of touch with his core. She was right. A family had been a brief dream he had had a while back, but it had nothing now to do with his self-image. The Wildcards had become a family - his family - and that had been a surprise. And they had been enough. But now this sudden embarrassment of riches was cause for consternation. How would these feelings affect him? What would it do to his edge? 

The damage was done. It would take months and tremendous energy to shut all these people out of his mind. He would always have them now. If he denied the truth of her assessment - if he turned away from these people - they would still invade his thoughts daily just as if he took them with him. They would drag at his heart and divide his attention. He might as well embrace it. Emerson had said: 'A certain awkwardness marks the use of borrowed thoughts, but as soon as we have learned what to do with them they become our own.' Kylen had told him to learn how to use this new power - this new knowledge. He could learn to live with the warmth he felt. He laughed silently. It was an amazing thing. 

Neither survivor spoke as they watched the sky in anticipation of the sun. Their faithfulness was duly rewarded. The sky began to lighten, and soon the sun began to rise over the lip of the ocean. McQueen could almost appreciate the sound of water dripping off of the disk as it rose. He looked over to Kylen and noticed that a few tears had slid onto her cheeks, but she seemed calm and contained - serene and complete as when he had first seen her. McQueen reached over and gave her hand a squeeze.

"Coffee?" he asked.

"That would be perfect," she said.

McQueen left her and made his way to the kitchen. The remains of last night were painfully evident. He started the coffee and began to police the area. He moved easily around the room, his efforts economical and efficient. Dale entered the kitchen wearing a robe exactly like the one Kylen had on, only newer. He gave the room the once over.

"What in the world ... You were supposed to apologize - not continue the argument. What happened down here?"

"Kylen had, what I guess you would call, a breakthrough last night - about her imprisonment - about what she lost," McQueen tried to explain in the broadest of terms.

"You were with her when it happened?" Dale asked, and McQueen nodded yes. "Thank God you were here," Dale said.

McQueen had a realization. He could leave now. McQueen had felt responsible for Kylen since they had met on the transport - responsible for her safety and well being. He had been waiting almost as long as he had known her for Kylen to figure things out. McQueen had been unsure how she would manage the truth, and had been frightened for her. He had wanted to be there when it happened. McQueen hadn't trusted anyone else to be able to handle the situation. Kylen had broken through the wall. It was over. He could leave.

"She's upstairs on the Widow's Walk. I was going to take some coffee up," McQueen explained as he finished cleaning the floor.

"She is brave, isn't she? Almost a little hero." Dale spoke as he grabbed two travel mugs from a cupboard, prepared the drinks and snapped the lids into place. 

McQueen considered and then answered. "'A hero is no braver than an ordinary man, but he is braver five minutes longer.' Yes, she is brave, and probably a hero." He felt extraordinarily proud to know her.

Dale spoke: "I'll get rid of Amy for the day - send her to the mainland for something. I'll be at the Clinic if you need anything. GO, take care of Kylen."

"McQueen was halfway up the stairs when Dale called from the kitchen. "Hey, where is your cane?"

"I have no idea," McQueen answered as he hotfooted it up the stairs with the coffee.

McQueen entered the glass room only to find that he was alone. He set the coffee down and checked the roof walkway. Kylen was gone. His back ached as he felt adrenaline being squeezed into his bloodstream. McQueen rushed to the ladder staircase only to see her making her way back up the stairs.

"I went down - Dale said that I had missed you," she said as she climbed.

McQueen looked down at her as she negotiated the ladder in her huge robe and squeaking slippers. Kylen suddenly slipped. He reached down and grabbed her arm, stabilizing her before she could hit the steps. She looked into his face and smiled. He caught his breath. McQueen had seen something inside her that he hadn't acknowledged until that second. An understanding hit him, and it was almost painful in its completeness. He had graduated from more than his cane. 

McQueen had heard that lovers could see themselves - or their unborn children - reflected in each other's eyes. He saw neither in her. That wasn't it. Kylen had told him once that the point was not someone belonging to you, but rather, you belonging to them. McQueen realized with absolute certainty that now he belonged to Kylen. He hadn't seen anything in her eyes that was common to poetry, but rather he had entered into them and felt a home for himself. Kylen belonged to him. He realized that Kylen had been his family for quite a while ... realized that she would probably always know how he felt before he did. She would be a door to the world for him. Someone who would tell him the truth. Kylen would always take his part. She was someone he could always trust - whose love would be unquestioned. They would quote each other for the rest of their lives. McQueen knew that he would feel her vibration inside his heart until the day he died. He was sure that she had facets and layers that would continue to startle him - But he knew, at that moment, all he would ever need to know about Kylen. She was True North. Kylen added to him, gave him something no one else ever had. Amy had been correct in her assessment. He did love Kylen. Loved her in a way that he had never anticipated - didn't know existed. She wasn't his lover. She wasn't his child and she wasn't a little sister - she had no easy definition, but she would always carry part of his soul. 

__

"Door number ... what?" he thought to himself. Kylen would love it, but he doubted that he would ever tell her. This was his own moment. All his own. Singular. 

McQueen pulled her up the rest of the way until she was stable on her own two feet. He knew he would remember that instant for the rest of his life. _"Answered and blessed, Kylen. Answered and blessed."_

End Literary Giants

M.Wheels


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